


An Offering of Dragons

by Lomonaaeren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dragon-Keepers, Dragons, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry decides that he really needs to take a holiday. He hits on the idea of touring the respective dragon sanctuaries of the world, and invites Draco, who he’s casually dating, to come with him. Updated every Sunday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Away From It All

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for light angst, established relationship. 
> 
> This story should update every Sunday and be relatively short in terms of total numbers of chapters.

“You’re not sick, are you?”  
  
Harry had to laugh at the way Ron was leaning across his desk, but he grinned at his best mate immediately afterwards, so Ron wouldn’t get upset. “No, Ron. But I did decide a holiday was the best thing for me.”  
  
Ron paused, looked around at all the paperwork teetering in piles on Harry’s desk, and said, “Well, at least it’s not deciding that you need to catch up on your reports and file them.”  
  
“Right,” Harry said gravely. “That would be  _much_ worse.”  
  
“It would,” Ron said, and swiveled around so he could look at the tilting piles of paper on his own desk, across the corridor. “That would mean someone would come in here and scowl at me if I didn’t do  _mine_.” He turned and performed some kind of complex triple salute to Harry that he probably thought was funny, along with all the many other things he thought were funny. “Thank you for sparing me a scolding.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “I won’t be gone long,” he said. “A month. Well, probably a few months.” He paused. “And I’m going to ask Draco to come with me.”  
  
This time, Ron fell off in a way that nearly took the stacks of paper on Harry’s desk down with him. Harry clucked his tongue at Ron and rescued the paper with a lazy sweep of his wand. Yes, these were documents and reports and files and memos that he hadn’t got to yet and wouldn’t get to before he went away, but that was no reason to have an avalanche.  
  
“Excuse me, mate,” Ron said, and screwed a finger into his ear as he got back up. “I thought you said you were going to ask  _Malfoy_ to go with you.”  
  
“No, I didn’t,” said Harry, and because he couldn’t resist the mischief, waited until Ron was sighing in relief before he added, “I said Draco.”  
  
Ron gave a great groan and flopped back into his own chair. The paper he had trembled, but didn’t slide down. “ _Why,_ mate?” he almost whined. “Why would you think that you need to— _continue_ this thing you have with him?”  
  
“Because I want to learn what kind of thing it is,” Harry said, with a shrug and a grin that made Ron groan and hide his head again. “Casual, which is the way we’ve kept it so far, or not.”  
  
“Going on holiday with him will let you know that?”  
  
“Um, yes,” Harry said. “It should. When we’re running breathlessly from Floo connection to Floo connection or eating food that we’ve never seen before or ducking because a dragon gets too close to us, then we’ll find out what we’re really made of. And whether we still get irritated with each other,” he added thoughtfully.   
  
He sometimes had the impression that Draco deliberately kept his temper in check around Harry, because he was worried what Harry would think if he said what he really felt.  
  
“That sort of makes sense,” said Ron, and leaned forwards to peer into Harry’s eyes. “Who replaced your brain with one that makes sense?”  
  
Harry smiled. “The same person that replaced yours with one that cares about paperwork.”  
  
“There’s lots of different definitions of the word  _cares_.” Ron leaned back and continued to consider Harry from a short distance away. “But not as many of what you’re doing. You really do want to see if it’ll last, don’t you?”  
  
Harry nodded. “Is that so wrong?” he had to add. The few times Draco had had dinner with him, Ron, and Hermione, the tension had been so high that it was hard to tell how they would react to each other on a long-term basis. Harry hadn’t even been sure either he or Draco wanted a long-term basis, anyway.  
  
“Er, of course not,” said Ron, in a patronizing tone that suggested Harry  _must_ be mental if he thought Ron was suggesting that. “But I didn’t realize—” He looked off into the corner of the office and frowned for a second as though he was contemplating a problem Harry couldn’t see. Then he turned around again.  
  
“I didn’t realize you were that serious about him,” Ron said, and Harry caught his breath at the weight of meaning in his voice.  
  
“That’s what I’m trying to test,” Harry said. “I mean, who knows if we’ll come back from this serious or not? He might not even agree to come,” Harry added, and felt his voice dip. It was true he would take this holiday whether or not Draco came, because he really needed it, but he would like it so much better if Draco was there.  
  
“I think he will.” Ron hesitated, flicked his eyes up to the ceiling of the office, and then looked back at Harry. “I just—I can’t believe I’m doing this, and you’re going to  _owe_ me something, all right?”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Harry demanded irritably. “Will you say what it is so I can tell whether I owe you a handshake or a punch in the gut, anyway?”  
  
“I think Malfoy is serious about  _you_ ,” Ron muttered, outrage and rebellion in every line of his body. “I didn’t want to notice it. I  _still_ don’t want to. But you couldn’t see the way he watched you the last time we had dinner together. Like he never wanted to let you go.”  
  
A second later, Ron turned his head to the side and spat as hard as he could into the rubbish bin beside his desk. “And I’m never going to say anything like that again,” he muttered. “I can barely believe I got through it the first time.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and exhaled a little, sitting there as he imagined the way Draco must have looked. And how openly, if Ron could comment on it. “Thank you for doing this much,” he whispered, and opened his eyes to smile at his friend.  
  
“We won’t speak of it,” said Ron, with a repressive look, and stood up to pick up a report. “When are you leaving?”  
  
“As soon as Kingsley reads my letter and grants me formal permission,” Harry said, glancing at the clock. “Which shouldn’t be very long. I think that he wants me to take a holiday as much as I want to take one.”  
  
At that moment, a purple paper bird came fluttering through the doorway of the office. Harry plucked it down easily and unfolded it, grinning when he saw the spiky slash of Kingsley’s writing on it.  
  
 _Get out of here before you try to change your mind, Potter. Or before some case comes up where people think they could use the benefit of your expertise._  
  
Harry shuddered as he laid the memo on his desk and cast a few spells that ought to hold the piles of paper in place and protect them against tampering. Other Aurors thought Harry was an “expert” on insane Dark wizards, and those cases were always the nastiest ones for him to handle.   
  
It was also one reason Harry had never tried to make his relationship with Draco more serious, and had only casually dated before that, too. Somewhere in the part of him that still believed in Divination, Harry thought he was going to end up sacrificed on a stone altar, a dagger in his heart. He didn’t want a lover left behind to mourn him.  
  
Now, though…  
  
Taking a holiday willingly instead of being ordered into one was a new step for Harry, and so was asking someone whose last name wasn’t Weasley to come with him on it. That meant he could change, he thought. Other things would start coming before his job if this holiday was a success.  
  
And he really wanted Draco to be the one he made the success with.  
  
*  
  
Draco hissed in irritation as a white shape appeared in the corner of his vision. He had almost finished this particular construct, and he hated having to lay down both his delicate tools and the vision bobbing in his mind. Right now, he knew how everything in the jeweled dog’s veins and legs and tendons fitted together. He might not if he turned away from it.  
  
But because he relied on contacts from new people to make sure he could continue to live, he fixed the vision in his mind as best he could and laid his tools down. Then he turned to take down the memo.  
  
Except it turned out not to be a memo. It was more silvery than white after all, and it was a stag Patronus. The Patronus bowed its antlers to Draco, and spoke in a voice like a hunting horn. Harry’s, of course.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you about something, Draco. Something important.” There was a little note of affection there that made Draco flush. “Dinner tonight at my place, at seven. It’s all right if you arrive late.” Then the Patronus faded as though it was mist someone had blown on.  
  
Draco stood there for a second, looking down at the small greyhound of silver and jewels he was building on the table. But he wouldn’t be able to properly return to work right now, not when speculation was coursing through his veins like blood. In the end, he sighed, turned away, and went up to the kitchen.  
  
He hadn’t had any lunch, and he attacked that with tea and hot bread and butter. Then he decided that wasn’t enough, and added a few slices of beef from the last restaurant he and Harry had visited. As he munched, he thought about what Harry might tell him.  
  
It could, of course, be the announcement Draco had thought in the beginning would come any day—that Harry was breaking up with him. Things had got better, and now Draco only thought it was coming every week.  
  
But Draco tried to tell that thought to pack up and go home. Harry was more than happy with him. He’d said it himself on any number of occasions.  
  
 _Yeah, but that’s usually right after you’ve had sex._  
  
Draco shook his head. He wouldn’t get anything done sitting here and wondering, and if he was too distracted to work on the greyhound, then he would take a nap. He knew spells that could send him into sleep if he had to use them.  
  
In the end, practice at Occlumency let him clear his mind enough to go back to the work, and soon he was working at attaching small winking topazes to the dog’s legs, where they would flash and dazzle someone when the greyhound raced, his thoughts revolving only around the vision of what it would look like when it finished.  
  
*  
  
Harry spun the pan and caught the flat cake of meat as it came down. Then he turned and cast a spell that made the spoons in the various pots hanging over the fire spin faster, and a jar of several mingled spices he kept for these special occasions float down from a shelf. It darted from pot to pot, spilling in the spices.  
  
A knock sounded at the door.  
  
“Come in!” Harry called over his shoulder. He turned around and slapped the meat flat on the plate waiting for it, then began to chop it. When he had it all but diced, he turned and spilled the meat into a waiting pan with small diced pieces of cucumber, tomato, and onion set in it.  
  
“Harry? Are you doing a house-elf’s work again?”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and snorted. “You know that’s part of the reason you don’t get along with Hermione, right?” he asked, as he stepped back so he could keep an eye on the pots. A taste of the noodles in the nearest one convinced him they were soft enough, and he ended the fire beneath that one and lifted it out of the way. “Because you keep referring to house-elf’s work as if we  _needed_ them for it?”  
  
“They need it, too,” Draco said, coming into the kitchen and leaning back out of the way. “They need us to give them some purpose in life.”  
  
Harry turned around, and Draco moved a single step forwards and kissed him. Harry was left standing there with his mouth gaping as Draco moved away, not even attempting to touch Harry more than that, and Summoned plates and cutlery. Forks and spoons spun like darting silver swallows in between the several animated objects obeying Harry’s will.   
  
“Draco?” Harry asked quietly. It wasn’t like him to do that.  
  
“I spent half the afternoon worrying you were about to break up with me,” Draco said, looking up from where he was arranging the plates fussily on the table. “I knew you wouldn’t as soon as I walked in the door, but—” He shrugged and began folding the napkins.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry said. He had left his announcement vague because he wanted to surprise Draco, but he could see how Draco would take it that way. “And who’s doing a house-elf’s work now?”   
  
“I’ll have you know that napkin-folding is a precise art, depending on timing and the degree of how much you want to compliment your guest.”  
  
“Except I’m not your guest.”  
  
“It can be a compliment to your host, too,” said Draco, not missing a beat, and smiled at him.  
  
Harry smiled helplessly back, then turned around as one of the pots threatened to overflow. The chopped vegetables and meat had to go in another pot, then, and the overflowing one be removed, and the components of the pudding in it be carefully poured into a bowl and cooled, and Harry had no more time to think about what he’d inadvertently done to Draco.  
  
But when the spaghetti and its sauce were done, along with the pudding of hot chocolate and boiled fruit and cream all folded into one another, and Draco was trying his best to eat without getting any sauce on his shirt, Harry looked at him and felt a twinge of remorse.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he began.  
  
Draco waved his fork at him, which nearly filled Harry’s face with noodles. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, and swallowed. “I don’t know why you subject me to dinners with Weasley and Granger. When  _your_ cooking is so much better.”  
  
“It takes a lot of effort to get the cooking this good,” Harry admitted, and smiled at Draco again as he managed to suck down a lot of noodles without making a mess. “I would probably still let Kreacher do the noodles and the pudding if it wasn’t for Hermione, and just concentrate on the sauce.”  
  
“She interferes too much,” Draco muttered.  
  
Harry heard him, but he let himself pretend that he hadn’t, and they both ate enough to fill their bellies with steaming warmth. When they were done, Harry reached out and took Draco’s hand. Draco lounged back to watch him, eyebrows rising higher and higher.  
  
Harry knew why. They didn’t usually sit in silence like this. If he invited Draco over for dinner, they ate and then they fell into bed.  
  
 _Strange that casual dating can include sex for me, but not talking._ Harry had never thought it would be like that when he first started dating people who hadn’t been his friends first. He had imagined—oh, it was silly to think of it now, but he had thought he would be celibate until he found someone he could give his heart to.  
  
After his first time sleeping with someone who meant less to him, Terry Boot, Harry had realized it was okay. If he and the other person both knew what they were doing and agreed to it, it didn’t hurt anyone for them to have a bit of fun.   
  
He and Draco had both been casual. Draco hadn’t actually acted as if he wanted anything more from Harry, most of the time, and he’d backed off when Harry asked him to stay the night or spend a lot of hours with his friends. Harry hadn’t pushed.  
  
But now, the silence was giving him hope.  
  
“Harry? Can you put me out of my misery, here?”  
  
Harry started and then leaned forwards and smiled at Draco. “Sorry, Draco. Sometimes I forget that it’s not just me who must be nervous about this.”  
  
“Then you should learn it now.” Draco’s face looked like it was made of ivory as he stared at Harry. “I thought—you wanted to break up with me. Then I decided that you wouldn’t have put it off like that or invited me to dinner. But now?”  
  
Harry sat up. “I’m going on holiday,” he said. “I want you to come with me.”  
  
Draco blinked a little and sat up. “Where? Ireland?”  
  
“No,” Harry said, wondering why Draco thought had picked that as the first possible destination. “Well, maybe. I admit I haven’t plotted out more than the vaguest course for it yet. It depends on whether there’s a dragon sanctuary in Ireland.”  
  
“A dragon sanctuary.” Draco was looking around as though he expected to see a dragon picture or statue or book, something to explain Harry’s sudden interest.  
  
“I need a holiday,” Harry said. “The last case—I thought I was going to die. And it’s been a while since it was that close and personal.” He shuddered. It didn’t get much more  _personal_ than an obsidian dagger actually in your chest and heading for your heart before the backup arrived.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“You read about it in the papers—”  
  
“But that isn’t the same as hearing about it from you.” Draco was straining across the table now, and he’d dropped Harry’s hand. “I want to know about it  _from you._ Why did you never tell me the truth about any of your cases? You just keep brushing it off and—I don’t like that.”  
  
Harry winced a little, but said, “I didn’t want you to be hurt by it when I died. I did the same thing with everyone I dated.”  
  
“How many times have you nearly died?” Draco demanded.  
  
Harry shrugged. “I gave up counting at fifty. But this time, the wizard I tracked down was trying to remove my heart with an obsidian dagger, and nearly succeeded. I went there hoping I could talk to him instead of arresting him. I thought it would be simple. But he was further gone than I’d imagined.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes and sat still. Harry felt a little catch at his heart. He had lost a few partners after they  _did_ find out something about his work and decided they didn’t want to be that close to constant death.  
  
But Draco meant enough to him that Harry knew he had to ask.  
  
“If you want to break up with  _me_ ,” he said, “it’s all right. I know I’m pretty reckless.”  
  
Draco shook his head and said, “I didn’t even know that that—was happening. I don’t want to break up with you.” For a minute, Harry thought he was going to add that he wanted to change Harry instead, but Draco opened his eyes and looked at him with the immovability of a stone statue. “I want to know more about your life instead.”  
  
Harry thought the smile that spread over his face then might have been the most since he’d ever given Draco. He touched his hand again, squeezed it, and then asked, “Does that mean you’ll come with me on this admittedly insane idea to tour all the major dragon sanctuaries?”  
  
*  
  
 _Where did this sudden interest in dragons come from?_  
  
Then again, Draco thought, apparently Harry had been concealing nearly dying every other week from him. Compared to that, concealing an interest in dragons was nothing major.  
  
“If you’ll explain why you want to go there, and why you want me to come with you,” Draco said. “Of all people.”  
  
Harry flushed a minute, not the reaction Draco had expected. Then Harry looked down at the kitchen table. Draco saw nothing more interesting than the remnants of their pudding, but he waited for Harry to gather his thoughts.  
  
“I was trying to find a book that would distract me from all these racing thoughts I have at night,” Harry began.   
  
 _I never knew he had those, either._ Of course, Draco had never spent the night with Harry, and he only knew the way Harry tended to look immediately after they made love, languid and blissful and with his head drooping. For all Draco knew, Harry held that expression until he was gone and then lay awake the rest of the night staring at the ceiling.  
  
“I ended up picking up an old copy of  _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.” Harry grinned this time, presumably at Draco’s expression. “And this line caught my eye, about dragons being impossible to domesticate. I started thinking—”  
  
“Always dangerous,” Draco interjected, unable to help himself.  
  
Only a second later, when he thought about it, did he realize that this might be one reason Harry hadn’t told him about nearly dying all those times. When things got intense, Draco would make a joke, and Harry would back off.  
  
Either Harry didn’t recognize the pattern or he was too caught up in his own thoughts to care. He gave Draco a vague smile and said, “Right. But I thought—they’re wild. _Really_ wild. Hard to manage. Beautiful.” He hesitated. “And the last time I saw one was when we rode that dragon out of Gringotts.”  
  
Draco nodded, struggling to conceal his resentment that  _we_ didn’t apply to him. “So you want to see others?”  
  
“Yes,” said Harry. “I want to do the things that Hermione did the year she went to Australia—oh, you don’t know about that, right. She  _Obliviated_ her parents and convinced them they wanted to move to Australia during the war, so they would be safe if Voldemort tried to track them down.”  
  
Draco stared. “That sounds a lot more ruthless than the Granger I know.”  
  
“How well do you really know her?”  
  
“Less well than I’d like to.”  
  
After a second, Harry raised Draco’s fingers to his mouth and kissed them lightly. Draco sat still long enough for the shiver to finish running down his spine, and by that time, Harry was already talking again   
  
“I want to travel around the world. Take risks. See beautiful things before I die. I didn’t do any of that, just went straight into the Aurors.” Harry stared at Draco. “I’ll probably be gone for a few months. And Ron and Hermione can’t take off their jobs. I wouldn’t want them to, anyway. But I want—I want you to go with me. To see what happens. To see if this becomes something more.”  
  
Draco felt as if he had shards of glass in his throat. He managed to swallow anyway. “You know it might not.”  
  
“I know.” Harry gave him a smooth smile. “But at least that way, I’ll know, instead of lying there at night and wondering. That’s another thing I think about.”  
  
Draco waited, and thought. He might have been offended that Harry thought Draco could leave  _his_ job while he didn’t think the same of Weasley and Granger.  
  
But it was true that Draco worked on his own schedule, and chose to honor only some of the orders for jeweled, protective animals people plied him with. Old enemies and uninteresting requests he refused outright. He could close his shop for a few months and send some owls.  
  
 _Now, the question is: do I want to go?_  
  
Draco turned and looked at Harry. He thought in a second that he could see all the coiled energy Harry was putting into sitting in the chair instead of springing up and grabbing Draco and asking Draco to go with him.  
  
 _Because he doesn’t know if he has the right, since we’ve kept this casual._  
  
But he wanted the right. And Draco wanted to give him the chance.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll go.”  
  
Harry’s enthusiastic response broke several of the dishes, and they ended up not even making it to the bed. Which, Draco thought, gasping as he got chocolate up his nose and sauce on his shirt after all, was fine, this time.  
  
 _We’ll have other times to—_  
  
Then Harry did something extremely sophisticated with his hips, and Draco gave up thinking until tomorrow.


	2. Common Welsh Green

“Is there  _any_ place here that isn’t up or down?” Draco moaned, and took Harry’s hand to step over another boulder.  
  
“Technically, this one is up and down at the same time,” Harry said helpfully, which made Draco turn his head and look at him with deadly, smoldering eyes for a minute. Harry grinned back. He thought Draco’s eyes were as beautiful as any dragon’s.  
  
“ _Technically_ ,” said Draco, and glanced somewhat uneasily down the slope in front of them. Going by the technical definition, Harry thought, it was also somewhat greener than some of the ones they’d trod so far. The sparks of green were in between boulders or alongside them or so bowed that they didn’t resemble any plants Harry knew.  
  
But if you were going with  _technically…_  
  
“Come on!” Their guide, a Welsh wizard named Landon Phelps, waved madly to them from the next slope. At least, Harry thought it was the next slope. From further up, it had seemed as though they were heading down into a little valley, but now it seemed more like it was a place people had agreed to call flat because it was flatt _er_ than some of the other things around them. “You’ll miss the hatching of the eggs if we don’t move on!”  
  
“You heard the man,” Harry told Draco, and jumped over a small rock. Because he was holding Draco’s hand, Draco had to jump with him at the same time.  
  
Draco turned his head and looked in despair at the mountains around them, not even the highest in sight; Landon had told them they were small for Wales, actually. The colors around them were grey, green, and brown. Harry could tell from Draco’s face what he was going to say next.  
  
“We should have stayed in our room,” Draco whined. “We could look at photographs of Welsh Greens perfectly well from there.”  
  
“Where is your sense of  _adventure_?” Harry asked, and tugged on his hand lightly.  
  
“Where my breakfast is about to be,” Draco said, and clung to him as he suddenly spun and listed a little down the trail. Harry steadied him, and the rattling small stones rolled past Draco and settled in the “valley.” “It’s all right for  _you_ , you know. You’re an Auror. You probably do this sort of thing all the time.”  
  
“Not really,” Harry had to admit. “If I have to climb, it’s mostly stairs.” He smiled as Draco’s desperate gaze came back to him. “I won’t let you fall. Stumble, maybe, but not fall.”  
  
Draco smiled faintly, and opened his mouth to say something, but Phelps let out a sharp whistle, and the moment was lost. Harry started and turned in the direction of the whistle. When he glanced back at Draco, Draco had his hand shielding his eyes and was peering diligently into the distance.  
  
“There! There!”  
  
Phelps was pointing, and Harry tilted his head back. From the height of Phelps’s hand and aimed arm, he suddenly doubted that they were being directed to look exclusively at eggs.  
  
Sure enough, a dragon’s head was slowly cresting the ridge above Phelps. Harry made out two slim horns, and then the dragon heaved itself up on its hind legs, beat its wings once, and took off with a blast of air that made Harry reel and grab onto Draco.  
  
But he kept his promise. He and Draco both swayed back and forth like they were drunk, but they didn’t fall.  
  
The dragon wheeled slowly overhead, cocking its head down to stare at them. Harry stiffened, readying the Fire Prevention Charms he’d studied just in case, but the dragon only wanted to look at them, apparently. It yawned a second later, a dropping of its lower jaw that still made Draco squawk, and flapped away in a leisurely way behind the nearest hill.  
  
“Wasn’t that  _worth_ it?”  
  
Phelps was bouncing up and down on his slope. Harry nodded slowly, although he realized he hadn’t actually enjoyed looking at the dragon that much when it was directly overhead. He’d spent too much time worrying that it was simply going to swoop down and eat them.  
  
“There are lots more dragons where that one came from!” Phelps nodded excitedly over the hill “that one” had mounted. “This is the edge of the sanctuary. The dragons here are more used to people.”  
  
“As snacks?” Draco whispered.  
  
Harry put an arm around his shoulders and would have responded comfortingly, but Phelps had either heard Draco despite the distance between them or could guess what he was saying from the expression on his face. “They do  _not_ eat people,” Phelps stressed in a hard tone. “They prefer to avoid people. But we’ve had to get the dragons here used to Keepers coming in and out of the sanctuary, of course. And they won’t bother you if all you want to see is their eggs. Let’s  _go_.” He began jogging between the boulders.  
  
“Are you sorry you came?” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear.  
  
Draco pulled his head back, looking offended. “Of course not!” he snapped. “But I have to admit it was nerve-wracking to have that thing overhead. Unless you’re about to tell me that you’re not concerned.”  
  
“I was concerned about you.” Harry cast a spell that floated Draco’s feet a short distance above the ground and then towed him gently forwards. “And that made it remarkably easy not to think about the dragon.”  
  
Draco couldn’t restrain a smile at that statement, but a second later, he was scowling. “If you say something like ‘Because I have my own dragon,’ I will  _punch_ you.”  
  
“Never crossed my mind,” Harry promised, while he guiltily shoved all the dragon-Draco puns he’d come up with away from the surface of his thoughts.  
  
Draco glared at him as if he thought otherwise, but he wasn’t  _that_ good at Legilimency. Harry innocently avoided his eyes under pretense of keeping a watch out on the trail they were traveling, anyway.  
  
*  
  
It was more pleasant to float over stones than stumble over them. And Draco trusted Harry not to let him fall better this way, anyway.  
  
He leaned on Harry’s shoulder as Phelps excitedly babbled about the eggs in front of them. They were less special than Draco had thought they would be. They were brown, and there were small specks of green on them, but so what? A lot of the stones around them looked much the same.  
  
“The colors serve as camouflage!” Phelps said, looking highly offended, when Draco dared to question him about this.  
  
Draco snorted. “What sort of creatures out here would eat  _them_?” He waved his hand at the nest, which was a huge shallow bowl lined with charred wood and singed stones. Then he waved his hand around, and took the opportunity to carefully  _look_ around, too. Phelps had assured them that this particular clutch of eggs had been abandoned and was being tended by Dragon-Keepers and not a mother dragon.  
  
On the other hand, he also seemed to think eggs needed camouflage and dragons nearly eating you was wonderful. Draco wasn’t sure that he wanted to trust the man, if only for that.  
  
“Camouflage from other dragons, for one thing.” Phelps’s voice was frigid, and Harry nudged Draco in the ribs again. Or he tried. Because Draco was floating off the ground, the shot went home to his groin instead. Phelps smiled in unholy satisfaction as Draco grunted and bent over. “Sometimes a female dragon tries to eat another one’s clutch. We reckon that it’s to preserve some space for her own offspring.”  
  
Harry was muttering apologies to Draco. Draco nodded briskly and disposed of them that way. He didn’t want to ruin their holiday or have a fight in front of Phelps. The fight could wait until they were safely in their room at the local inn again and no one could witness it.  
  
A sharp  _crack_ cut across the air, and Harry, who’d been about to ask a question, jumped.   
  
“I thought Apparating in and out of this area was restricted?” he croaked, while Draco had a private mental celebration as to the taunts he would heap on  _Harry_ later for being scared.  
  
“It is.” Phelps spoke so reverently that Draco glanced back at him. He was crouched in front of the clutch, and tears were running down his face. He reached out and rested a hand on one of the eggs, then turned to them with his hazel eyes glinting almost the color of the shells. “You get to witness one of the rarest moments in a dragon’s life.”  
  
 _How can it be, when all of them have to go through it?_ Draco wanted to ask, but from the expression on Harry’s face, he was in absolute rapture at the thought of attending a dragon hatching. Draco sighed and resigned himself to watching. He was grateful for the small amount of space Harry’s spell kept between him and the ground, though.  
  
The shell cracked faster and harder than Draco had expected, especially given that the first crack had already sounded. Suddenly there was a wriggling dragonet at his feet, or was it called a hatchling? Draco had no idea, and he froze, staring at it.  
  
The tiny dragon lifted its head, turning it slowly back and forth. Its neck was long and spindly and looked as though Draco could have snapped it like a chicken bone. The dragonet gave a weak trumpeting noise and dug its claws into the earth. Phelps stooped over it and picked it up, hands slung under its belly.  
  
The hatchling produced a tiny jet of steam and smoke that singed Phelps’s fingernails. Draco jumped back, and  _he_ wasn’t holding the damn thing.  
  
But Phelps only laughed, and reached into a large pouch that he carried on the thick belt around his waist. “He  _does_ know his parents,” he murmured. “The ones who will really tend him and rear him, at least.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth to ask how Phelps knew the dragonet was male, but another crack sounded and stole his voice. This dragonet dropped straight onto the stones, squirming as though something was wrong with it. After a moment peering at it, Draco could see something was. There was a slick, clear caul on it, binding its wings. The other hatchling didn’t have one.  
  
“Phelps?” Harry’s voice was cautious.  
  
“Just a moment,” said Phelps, even as two other eggs hatched and one of the newest dragons stared at the one with the caul in a way Draco could only think of as hungry.  
  
He hesitated with his hand on his wand. They hadn’t been specifically warned not to use magic on the dragons, but then again, probably the Dragon-Keepers had thought no one would be stupid enough to  _try_.  
  
But Draco had lots of experience with removing small bindings and inconvenient body membranes of this kind when he worked on the raw materials of dead animals that he would use to infuse his creations with lingering life. He was certain he could do it, and without harming the dragon, while the Dragon-Keepers might not know how to.  
  
 _Or maybe they’ll even kill the poor thing because it’s not fit to live, or something_.  
  
Draco’s head was in a whirl as he watched another egg hatch on top of the one that was frantically fluttering its wings against the caul. The newest dragonet dug its claws down, and the trapped one shrieked piteously.  
  
 _That’s it_.  
  
Draco’s wand flicked down before he could decide to take the motion back, and he murmured, “ _Diffindo presse!_ ”  
  
Phelps looked up sharply at the spell, probably because he thought Draco was going to cut off dragon wings to take with him, or something. “What are you  _doing_?” he snapped, flinging out a hand as though that would stop Draco.  
  
But Draco’s spell had flown true. The caul tore down the dragonet’s back, and as it slid off and flopped to the ground, his wings likewise flopped free. The dragonet promptly hissed steam in his sibling’s face, and the other one backed off as though it had never tried to eat anybody else in the clutch.  
  
“That was amazing,” Harry murmured, and leaned up to kiss Draco.  
  
Phelps was less pleased. “You could have cut his wings!” he hissed at Draco, though Draco noticed he was careful to keep his voice down, presumably so the dragonets wouldn’t get excited. He took more chunks out of his belt pouch and flung them on the stones. Draco was pleased to notice that  _his_ hatchling scrambled over with the rest of them to eat them. “A dragon without wings has no life at  _all_.”  
  
“Well, he was about to not have a life at all, that’s true,” Draco snapped back. He raised his voice without thinking about it, and noticed some of the newest hatchlings, who hadn’t reached the food yet, turn and orient on him.  _Maybe they eat things that make lots of noise._ Draco swallowed and tried to sound calm and dignified as he went on. “He was about to suffer from a paralyzing bite in the middle of his spine, or maybe just have his wings torn off. I saved his life. So there.”  
  
Phelps stared at him for a moment, then leaned over—sticking his face down in among all those young dragons in a way that made Draco shudder—and studied the mess of the caul on the ground. Then he sighed and straightened up with a shake of his head. “Fine,” he said. “And I’m even more impressed that you knew that hatchling was male when your exposure to dragons must have been  _minimal_ at best.”  
  
Draco wasn’t about to tell him that he had started referring to the dragonet as male in the heat of the moment. He only nodded his head and accepted the tribute.   
  
Harry’s warm smile meant more to him, anyway.  
  
“You’ll have to teach me that spell,” said Phelps, and looked hard at him. “Usually, when a hatchling is born with the wings bound like that, they’re not going to survive unless they’re the only one in the clutch and the Keeper has time to heat the binding and get it off that way. Their siblings eat them.”  
  
“Well, I’m glad to have made a contribution to the continued survival of the Common Welsh Green,” Draco said coolly, and ignored the way Harry glanced at him. Harry had already smiled; he couldn’t take it back now.  
  
And Draco  _was_ glad that he had saved that dragonet’s life, even if he couldn’t tell which one it was now in the sliding, scrambling mass of pale green bodies clustered around the meat Phelps had thrown. Because it had been small, and living, and had needed help.  
  
And because maybe it would convince Harry that he wasn’t simply hanging back because he didn’t like dragons. It was just—mornings of scrambling up and down boulder-strewn slopes wasn’t  _him_.  
  
*  
  
“Wasn’t that  _amazing_?”  
  
Draco moaned something in answer from where he was stretched out on the bed.  
  
“Well, it was,” Harry said, chattering even as he watched Draco’s shoulders tenderly. Draco had discovered that he’d got sunburned when they got back to the inn. Harry had no idea how. The day had been mostly cloudy and he didn’t think Draco had opened his robes once. But it had still happened, and he was waiting now for Harry to rub soothing cream into his back.  
  
“I’m sure it was for you,” Draco muttered, and shifted restlessly. Harry went over to the bed and nudged it gently with his knee. Draco followed the direction and rolled a little to the left so Harry could get his hands under the side of his ribs. “But I didn’t like it nearly as much— _eeee_.”  
  
Harry bit his lip and decided that this wasn’t the best time to tell Draco that he reminded Harry of a baby dragon. “You didn’t enjoy it at all?”  
  
“Well,” said Draco, after a long moment when he seemed to want to think about it, while Harry rubbed cream up and down and in circles, “I suppose seeing the look on Phelps’s face when I saved that dragon’s life  _was_ fun.”  
  
“Just that part?” Harry shook his head and carefully touched the sunburn. Draco winced, but not enough to move away. Harry delicately brushed the healing salve on. “If I’d known that you would hate this holiday that much, I wouldn’t have brought you.”  
  
Draco rolled on his side again, despite the hiss of pain that made him expel from his lips. “I didn’t say that I  _hated_ it.”  
  
“You said it wasn’t fun,” Harry said quietly. He hoped he was keeping all traces of disappointment out of his eyes or voice, although he knew he felt it. “I want this to be fun. If it isn’t, I want to do something that you would find more fun.”  
  
Draco’s eyelids trembled. Harry looked at him carefully. He hoped that he hadn’t accidentally dripped salve into Draco’s eye.  
  
“To hear you say that...”  
  
“Yes,” Harry said quietly, and draped his hand over Draco’s hand. “I enjoyed looking at the dragons. And I loved the way you saved that one’s life. But I do think that we ought to go back and do something else if this is going to be wearying for you.” He found a smile. “I can’t guarantee there will be a dragonet with its wings bound to save at every sanctuary we visit, after all.”  
  
Draco said nothing for long enough that Harry actually took heart. If he’d been going to reject it right away, he would have by now. This indicated he was thinking about it, long and carefully.  
  
After a minute, Harry started smoothing the cream into the sunburned skin again, being careful to avoid the worst areas, as he waited for Draco to make a decision.  
  
*  
  
Draco was trying to remember the last time someone had cared enough about him to offer him the power of a choice like that.  
  
 _Never_?  
  
Oh, he had friends. His friends simply weren’t so close that they would put themselves to huge inconvenience or stop doing something they really liked for Draco’s sake. They would go out of their way to help him, but not like this.  
  
And while his mother loved him, Draco had always known that she considered herself to be a better decision-maker than he was. She would have swept him along on the holiday anyway, telling him and herself that it was for his own good and he was simply  _wrong_ if he told her that he wouldn’t enjoy it.  
  
Harry was different. Draco reached out, rubbed the salve that had got on his hand into the bedclothes, and then took the hand that Harry didn’t have covered with the potion.  
  
Harry went still and immediately looked at him, calm, intent. Draco nodded to him and cleared his throat.  
  
“I’m not a fan of stumbling on stones,” he said. “Or getting burned to death by dragons.”  
  
He saw Harry’s cheek jump as though Harry was burning to contradict him, but in the end, he held still and let Draco speak.  
  
“But the more I think about it, the more I think that this might be a good idea,” Draco said. “I don’t—it’s a long time since I just wanted to save a life like that, the way I did with that dragonet.” He was sure he would sound stupid and fumbling as he tried to explain, but Harry was watching him with an intent look, and that could only be a good thing.  
  
“I don’t save lives in my work. I can make them, and I think my animals are just as much living beings as the ones they look like.”  
  
Harry smiled. “I think so, too.”  
  
“But I don’t get to protect them often,” Draco continued doggedly. He wouldn’t have the courage to start again if he stopped. “I felt like you for a minute. A big, fierce Auror, ready to charge in there and rescue someone.”   
  
He basked in Harry’s smile, then added, “You can’t guarantee that there’s going to be someone to save at every sanctuary. I know that. But I want to try.”  
  
Harry lifted his hand to his mouth, and kissed it. Then he bent down and kissed Draco.  
  
Draco sighed and gave himself up to the kiss. They wouldn’t try to make love tonight, he thought, not with his back so burned, but the soft touches as Harry went back to stroking his shoulders and spine were worth more.  
  
And so was Harry’s continuing, understanding silence.  
  
Draco closed his eyes and rolled in the midst of it until he rolled into sleep.


	3. Hebridean Black

“Bracing, isn’t it?”  
  
At least, that was what Harry  _thought_ Allison MacFusty had said. He had to bend down in the face of the wind and lock his hands into crevices in the rock, so he wasn’t actually sure. The hood of the thick cloak he’d borrowed from Allison’s brother blew back from his face. He stood up and put his back to the wind for a second, and then the hood snapped down sharply enough to hurt his ears.  
  
Not more than the wind was already hurting them, though. There was that.  
  
Allison walked back in front of him and held out a hand. Harry gripped it gratefully. She walked his hands through the motions of an unfamiliar spell, and Harry gasped with relief as he found that the wind disappeared when he moved his wand in the same patterns and cast it.  
  
“What was  _that_?”  
  
Harry glanced over. Draco stood beside him, apparently never having moved out of the shelter of an upright piece of rock. He looked at Harry and shuddered slightly. Harry smiled and drew Draco into the circle of his arm, walking with him down part of the slope of the little island.  
  
“I thought the weather in these islands was supposed to be mild.” Draco infused those words with as much complaint as someone else could have in a ten-minute rant. Harry smiled and glanced over at Allison. The wind had died as suddenly as it had arisen.  
  
Allison grinned at them. She had the round face of all the MacFusty wizards Harry had met so far, chatted with by Floo, and seen running around in the giant house where he and Draco had Flooed in, shouting incomprehensible numbers to each other. She also had two long chestnut pigtails that Harry was amazed hadn’t whipped her in the face. “It is. That was a Hebridean Black flapping its wings.”  
  
Harry whistled. “What is the one who lives here? Male or female?”  
  
“Oh, male, of course.” Allison looked a little shocked. “It would be as much as my job or your lives were worth to bring you near a nesting female with a clutch.”  
  
Draco gave a little moan, but when Harry glanced at him, he raised his chin and pasted on a smile that he seemed to assume was sincere. “Is the male safe to approach?” he asked.  
  
Allison seemed to have recovered her good humor as she smiled and turned away. “As safe as any dragon,” she said. “Which isn’t very. But that’s the reason you came to be around dragons in the first place, isn’t it?”  
  
“Mad,” Draco muttered, not enough under his breath that Harry didn’t hear it. Allison would probably hear it, too, if not for the brisk crackling of her footsteps across pebbles. “They’re all mad, Dragon-Keepers. Every single last one of them.”  
  
Harry pinched his arm, and Draco subsided, but his face was green. Harry ignored him for the moment as they followed Allison over the crest of the hill. He was eager to see a bigger and fiercer dragon than the Welsh Green.  
  
“Of course,” Allison continued as she threaded her way through a swaying stand of wildflowers and across a small creek, “I would never have taken you to meet some of the males who have a habit of lunging at visitors. This one is Firewing. He’s one of our show dragons.”  
  
“Does he do tricks?” Draco asked. It was only his tone that Harry had to elbow him for, though, because honestly, he was pretty interested to know the answer to that himself.  
  
“Sort of,” Allison said, without appearing to take offense. There was another hill in front of them—one big enough to hide a dragon behind, Harry noted with rising excitement. “He tolerates people better than most of the others, and he’s got it into his head that when more than one of us shows up, he’s going to be fed.”  
  
She turned around and watched them for a moment. “Keep quiet at first. You need to give him time to get used to your voices. Make slow movements, and only walk towards him if I tell you it’s safe. You’ll see where to stop. It’s a great scorched line in the ground. That’s the limit his fire can reach from his favorite sunbathing place.”  
  
“Oh,  _good_ ,” Draco said faintly, and Harry nudged him in the side again. Draco was quiet as they began to cross the hill.  
  
When they finally reached the top, Harry caught his breath. There was a little dale below, with a smaller ridge beyond, and it seemed as though the whole bottom of that little dale was full of gleaming purple-black dragon.  
  
As he watched, Allison took a whistle from her belt and blew a little blast. The mound of purple-black below stirred, and then lifted its head. The head went on rising long past the point where Harry thought the neck should end.  
  
“Is that real enough for you?” Draco was muttering fervently at his side. “Dangerous enough for you?”  
  
Harry just nodded, his throat thick. The dragon paced slowly across the little dale towards them, wings jolting at every stride. The way that his head craned down reminded Harry of the way Dudley used to peer at things close to his face. But there was nothing laughable about him, or pudgy. Instead, he was simply one impressive dragon.  
  
“Now,” said Allison, “remember what I told you about keeping your voices down, and not making any sudden movements. I know this is a little startling, but it’s also one of the best tricks Firewing can help me do.” She either didn’t hear or didn’t care about the little moan Draco made, but ran down the hill towards Firewing.  
  
Harry swallowed. He supposed that when dragons knew you, you  _could_ do this kind of thing.  
  
Firewing bowed his head, seemed to focus his eyes on Allison or identify her by scent or do whatever else he needed to do, and eagerly opened his mouth. Allison dove towards him, her feet leaving the ground. Harry was sure that she’d used some magic to do it, but he hadn’t seen her cast.  
  
He became aware that Draco was clutching his arm and he was clutching Draco right back, his breathing shallow and excited.  
  
Allison landed neatly in Firewing’s mouth, balancing between his front fangs. She held up her hand, which seemed to clutch a little bit of meat; Harry hadn’t bothered to look when she close, and now he couldn’t see it. Firewing tilted his head back and began to beat his wings.  
  
Harry leaned against Draco, and Draco leaned against him, and together they kept themselves from being blown away. Forcing his eyes open against the wind-tears that wanted to seal them shut, Harry saw Allison toss the bit of food into the air.  
  
Firewing seized it and swallowed it. Then he blew a blast of fire straight up into the sky. Allison came along with it.  
  
Harry did shout; he couldn’t help it. But Allison must have been using fire-resistant spells on her clothing along with all the other magic protecting her and helping her leap impossible distances. She rolled around neatly and snapped her cloak over her head as she came down, laughing. The cloak seemed to stiffen into wings that helped her glide to a stop on the ground. She caught herself with a small stagger and turned around to wave at Harry and Draco.  
  
Harry waved madly back, glad that Firewing hadn’t decided to lunge for them because of the shout.  
  
At that moment, he became aware of hot breath right next to him and a heaving snort. He turned around, slowly because he had somehow remembered that, and stared right into Firewing’s eyes from a distance that he could have crossed with one finger.  
  
It was strange, standing so close to the eye of a dragon. Harry found that he couldn’t move. His legs weren’t shaking. He simply stood and stared, enchanted. He didn’t know what the etiquette was for meeting a dragon’s stare. Maybe Firewing would swallow him up for being rude any time now.  
  
But Harry couldn’t help thinking that it would be worth it.  
  
Moment after moment passed, and still Firewing didn’t bite or roast Harry, but continued to stare. Harry supposed he could just be curious. Dragons undoubtedly had their moments of wonder like any other animal.  
  
Beside Harry, Draco gave another tiny moan.  
  
Firewing pulled back and considered them from a greater distance. Then, just as Harry had begun to really dare to breathe again, Firewing darted his head forwards and opened his mouth in Draco’s direction.  
  
To Harry, what he did next just seemed natural.  
  
*  
  
 _No. No. I’m not going to die like this, burned to a crisp, am I?_  
  
Draco didn’t dare move. He still hoped, in some distant part of his mind, that standing there like an idiot would save him. He could hear MacFusty edging towards him, but he was sure she would be too late.   
  
Of course she would. Draco stared into the jaws of death, the looming white teeth and the curls of flame far down in the dragon’s throat, and found time for only a dull impatience that Harry’s love of adventure had led them here.  
  
Then the dragon was suddenly tossing its head, moving away, and Draco could see something else. He lifted his head with a gasp, and blinked when he saw what that other thing was.  
  
Harry, balanced on the dragon’s nose, was steadily advancing towards its eyes. Draco  _would_ have shouted this time if not for MacFusty’s hand on his arm, gripping hard and driving him into silence.  
  
Firewing sat further and further back on its haunches. Draco saw its eyes cross trying to stare at its own nose. Then it reached up and angrily swiped a claw towards its muzzle. Harry ducked. The dragon must have scratched its own scales, though, because it roared in pain.  
  
“Does your partner have any training in Dragon-Keeping?” whispered MacFusty to Draco.  
  
“Of course not,” Draco said. He wanted to say,  _He’s a bloody Auror, he has no clue what he’s doing,_ but in fact, he thought Harry might. He was used to charging into impossible situations and surviving them because of his own courage and luck, after all. This was probably just the same thing, except this time Draco had been the victim.  
  
 _Or almost the victim. Doesn’t he know he can come down from there now that I’m not_ actually  _in danger of being burnt alive?_  
  
“I’ll try what spells I can to help him,” said MacFusty grimly, and Draco saw her raise her hands. “But I’m not sure they’ll be much help if Firewing decides to flame.” And her wand began to fly, while her voice muttered charms Draco wasn’t familiar with.  
  
Harry, meanwhile, had finished the walk up Firewing’s muzzle to his skull, and he leaped up and landed there. Firewing roared again and tossed his head. Harry wavered but didn’t fall. Draco heard MacFusty hiss something beside him. It didn’t sound complimentary.  
  
“Get  _down_ ,” Draco said as intently as he could, but of course Harry was too far away to hear him.  
  
Harry turned and cast a spell down the dragon’s back to its tail. Draco couldn’t see what it was with a huge mound of tossing, rearing reptile in between him and Harry, but the next instant Harry began to run, balancing so easily on the rough scales that Draco found his mouth open without words to fill it.  
  
Firewing swirled around, rising so far and beating his wings so fast that Draco almost got blown over again. Only MacFusty bracing beside him kept him safe. Draco’s dread that Harry would get toppled off was too great for him to look. He had to close his eyes.  
  
“I don’t believe it!” MacFusty shouted, her voice dazed. “He used a bloody  _Stairstep Spell_ to get down Firewing!”  
  
That made Draco pop his eyes open again, and sure enough, he could see it now that Firewing had turned its back to them. Harry had used a spell that usually Aurors cast to span the gap where old stairs or ramps had fallen away. The stairs floated a meter or so above Firewing’s spine, following its general curve. Harry pounded busily down them, and now he was only a few meters above the ground.  
  
But swinging towards Harry was Firewing’s broad tail, and Draco could see—could see as if it was already happening in front of him—how that would smash Harry’s steps to pieces and send them flying.  
  
“ _Harry_!” he shouted, this time, ignoring MacFusty’s hissed instructions to be quiet, and closed his eyes again.  
  
*  
  
 _Well, it seems I was right that this holiday was going to be an adventure._  
  
Harry could feel how much his feet were going to hurt in the morning, from how hard they hit the steps, and how much his bones and knees ached as he forced them into a run. But the point was, the  _point_ was, how hard his heart sang in its cage of ribs.  
  
Firewing spun, and the stairs eddied and drifted after him, not quick enough to actually follow the flexing motions of his spine. Harry saw the tail coming up to one side of him, and he could feel, like a prophecy, the ache that it would cause along his spine and his sides if it hit him.  
  
He didn’t intend to stand still long enough to let that happen, of course.  
  
Harry dived forwards. He heard wind whistling around him, and he knew he was falling in a position that not that many people would recommend, his arms tucked on either side of his head. He knew Firewing’s tail might not miss him.  
  
He still had the insane temptation to laugh.  
  
He landed with a hard bounce, and immediately rolled out of the way of the stomping feet. Firewing dropped back to all fours and began beating his wings again. Harry let the wind blow him this time, faster than he could have walked, back towards the hill where Draco and MacFusty stood.  
  
He knew when his luck had run out, when the dragon’s roaring settled to a low mutter and the wind stopped. It would probably be a darting head and a blast of fire next. Harry stood up and carefully inched back the rest of the way, remembering—now—what MacFusty had said about small movements.  
  
But Firewing seemed to have decided that he was done with this shit. He labored back to the center of the dale where he’d been sleeping when Harry and Draco first saw him, and curled up with a great sigh. He never looked at the hill, even when Harry made a lot of noise scrabbling up it, or when Draco flung his arms around Harry with a triumphant cry.  
  
Harry only got to enjoy one minute of a hug before Draco was shaking him hard enough to make his head hurt.  
  
“Why did you do that?  _Why_ did you do that?” Draco was on the verge of slapping him, it looked like, and he didn’t appear to notice Allison’s opening mouth or her frowning glance at Firewing. Harry did, though, and he would rather not have to deal with a dragon again so soon after the first time, so he put his hand on Draco’s arm and shook his head.  
  
“Why don’t we talk about this back at the Welcoming Cottage?” he suggested, and turned around to smile at Allison. “Thank you for a fabulous show. I’d be interested in seeing descriptions of the spells you used, if you want to write to me.”  
  
“I’ll send a letter.” Allison’s eyes were bright with amusement as she looked between him and Draco. “And I hope that you have better luck in your next visits with dragons, Auror Potter.”  
  
Harry laughed. “I may have to be more careful. I think I used up all my luck with this one!”  
  
“Yes, you did,” snapped Draco, and hauled him off his feet with a single tug of his arm. “Let’s  _go_.”   
  
Harry shrugged backwards at Allison as he got dragged along. He could understand why Draco was upset, and at the same time, he wanted to laugh aloud with how good this felt. Even the small snores that rose from the dale where Firewing lay asleep just made him feel better.  
  
He hoped that Draco would be able to explain what he wanted without shouting.   
  
*  
  
“I want you to never do that again.”  
  
Infuriatingly, Harry only nodded and smiled at him. They were in the “Welcoming Cottage,” the small building of stone and thatch that the MacFusty wizards evidently thought sufficient to house visitors in. Draco had already cast spells that stuffed up all the cracks in the walls where whistling draughts could come in, and used some charms that would make the house smell like dirt and nothing more to wandering dragons. MacFusty had said, when they asked her, that Hebridean Black dragons “didn’t often” come this close to the cottage, but they should just move slowly and quietly if one did.  
  
Harry hadn’t. And he was still alive.  
  
Even though Draco had been extremely relieved about that, now he wondered if Harry shouldn’t have suffered at least a small burn, to teach him a lesson. Maybe then he would stop being so stupidly blasé about it all.  
  
“What a rush, huh?” Harry spun around in the open middle of the cottage. Draco found himself hoping that he would hit his shin on the table, but he didn’t. He just ended up with his hands pointing towards Draco and his grin, extremely pleased with itself, aimed at him.  
  
Draco didn’t respond. He simply sat down on a chair, and waited.  
  
Harry dropped his hands and sighed. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”  
  
“You’ll never do anything like that again?” Draco demanded.  
  
Harry nodded. “I’m hoping that any other dragons that come close to us won’t snap at you, of course!” He gave Draco a tender smile. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Wonderful,” Draco drawled. “And that’s not what I meant. I never want you to risk your life in such a stupid manner again.”  
  
“Of course I won’t,” Harry said. “It was a rush because I got to do it  _once_. I wouldn’t want to regularly sprint up and down dragons’ backs, any more than I would want to handle cases like that all the time in the Aurors.” He shook his head and sat down in the chair on the other side of the table. “So it won’t happen again.”  
  
“I’m not talking about running up a dragon’s back  _specifically_ ,” said Draco, and touched his forehead. A headache was beginning there, a small indefinite pulse of pain behind his eyebrows, the sort that only Harry could cause. “I’m talking about all the chances that you take. You told me you take a ton in your job, and that’s one reason you didn’t want to let me close when I asked, right?”  
  
Harry took a cautious step back from him. The light in his face had dimmed. Draco found himself regretting that, but he had to shake his head a second later. Yes, it was necessary to bring him down to earth. He had to understand how Draco thought about this.  
  
“It’s about risks,” Draco said softly. “You know that you could have cast a spell at Firewing that would have shocked his head back or distracted him until MacFusty could deal with him. But you chose to jump on his nose instead.”  
  
Harry at least kept silent, as if thinking about that. Draco was glad to let him. He crossed his legs and waited.  
  
“Yes,” Harry finally said. “I can see why you’d be concerned about that.” He glanced at Draco, seemed to brace himself, and leaned forwards to rest his elbows on the table. “Are you upset because it seems like I value danger more than I value you?”  
  
Draco licked dry lips. He hadn’t expected Harry to put it in terms that so perfectly encapsulated his thoughts—including the ones he didn’t want to speak aloud. But he also didn’t want to push away the insight just because Harry was the one who had come up with it.  
  
“Yes,” he said finally, in much the same croaking tone Harry had used.  
  
Harry nodded, his eyes tender, and stood up to come around the table. Draco stood up to meet him. Harry rested his hands on Draco’s shoulders, eyed him, and said, “All right. I can’t promise to never do it again, because I would probably do it again and just get you more upset. It takes a long time to change a habit. But I’ll try.”  
  
Draco’s shoulders settled back. “ _Thank_ you.”  
  
“You’re welcome.” Harry smiled quizzically at him. “But you have to admit it was at least a  _little_ cool.”  
  
“It was crazy.” Draco tried to keep his tone flat. He didn’t succeed.  
  
“But it was a little cool, too.”  
  
Draco knew he was going to smile, and he didn’t want to give Harry that much of a victory. Instead, he ducked his head and murmured austerely, “You owe me at least a blowjob if I’m going to admit that.”  
  
He should learn not to challenge Harry, Draco thought a second later, because it meant he had to stand in the middle of the floor of the Welcoming Cottage—not even against a wall!—and try to muffle his cries as Harry set enthusiastically to sucking. After all, loud sounds could attract a MacFusty as well as a dragon.


	4. Norwegian Ridgeback

“Watch. And you’ll see something remarkable.”  
  
Harry nodded in return to their guide’s murmur. As far as he was concerned, they’d seen something remarkable already. Ask Idasson had led them up into the mountains and to the edge of the long, placid stretch of pure blue water with only brief instructions about the best places to put their hands and feet on the trail. And he’d done it so smoothly that even Draco had ceased to worry about falling, at least from his contented expression as he leaned against Harry’s side.  
  
Then there was the shimmer of the water, and the small wake cutting across it that looked like an invisible boat was making it.  
  
Oh yeah, and there was the dragon crouched on the side of the mountain, gaze fixed on that wake.  
  
Harry eyed it in appreciation. It was the first time he had been this close to a dragon without it trying to charge him in one way or another. The dragon’s scales glinted a rich, warm brown, like the earth he had sometimes dug in when he was responsible for taking care of Aunt Petunia’s garden. The long ridge on its back had a shadowy hue. And its claws curled into the stone as it leaned forwards, poised for a moment, and then leaped.  
  
It was a strange leap, Harry thought. Its wings opened, but only a little, so that it sort of clapped down into the water rather than gliding or flying. Then it twisted its head and plunged it underwater in the same motion. Harry saw a distorted reflection of its jaw shining beneath the surface for a second.  
  
When the dragon pulled its neck and lifted it up, Harry could see its fangs—which were venomous, Ask had warned them—sunken firmly to the jawline in the neck of a heavy, gleaming seal.  
  
Draco gasped a little. Ask reached out a warning hand, but the dragon didn’t appear to have heard them, or to be determined to pay attention if it had. It backed up from the water, snapping its neck back and forth. The seal had almost stopped jerking. Harry wondered if it had died from the poison or the broken neck the dragon seemed intent on giving it, and then decided that it didn’t matter.  
  
Ask sighed out slowly and stood up. “Come,” he said. “We can approach it more easily now.”  
  
Harry blinked. He was using a Translation Charm that he and Draco had cast on each other the minute they arrived in Norway, and Harry knew that Draco’s wandwork was impeccable, but he still thought the magic must have malfunctioned. “We can go  _up_  to a feeding dragon?”  
  
Ask smiled, although the smile was more in his eyes than on his face. “Isn’t that what you came here to do?”  
  
“Well, see them,” said Draco at once and loudly. Harry turned his head to smile at him. At the moment, he found himself more in agreement with Draco than with Ask, as strange as that was. “It doesn’t mean that we need to get that close to a feeding one.”  
  
“I thought dragons were very aggressive over their food,” Harry added, mostly because Ask was standing up and he thought they were probably going up to the dragon no matter what anyone said.  
  
“Not this one,” said Ask. “Of course you know that they’re not as aggressive as Hungarian Horntails, for all that they look a little like them.”  
  
Harry did remember reading that, but since his memories of the Hungarian Horntail were pretty vivid and the closest he had been to a Norwegian Ridgeback was Norberta when she was a baby, he didn’t really want to get more closely acquainted. But Ask was strolling patiently, stubbornly, down the hill. Harry grumbled under his breath and followed.  
  
Ask went straight up to the edge of the water, and then waved his wand and murmured something that Harry couldn’t hear, but which didn’t sound like an incantation. The clear blue water pulled back from a series of large stones that led across the fjord, or whatever it really was. Ask hopped onto the first one, and made a beckoning motion behind his back with one hand without turning around to see if they were following. His gaze was fixed on the dragon.  
  
“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Draco muttered.  
  
Since he was following Harry without any complaint, this time, and because Harry secretly agreed, he nodded and took Draco’s hand. They crossed after Ask and came to the downslope beneath the dragon. Seal blood trickled slowly and messily over the rocks as the dragon raised its head to look at them.  
  
Ask bowed from the waist and held his hands out. Harry couldn’t hope noting, uneasily, that he was exposing the curve of his neck when he did that, the same place the Ridgeback had bitten the seal.  
  
“Do the same,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
Harry promptly did, nudging Draco in the side with his elbow when Draco hesitated. For a second, Harry had thought this was going to be like Draco refusing to bow before Buckbeak all over again.  
  
There were long moments when Harry thought he could feel the dragon considering which muscle in his neck would make the most tempting target. Then it grunted and turned back to ripping gory chunks out of the dead seal.  
  
The smile on Ask’s face as he straightened up made Harry certain of one thing. “That wasn’t in the usual books about dragons that I consulted,” he murmured. “And that’s something you—you helped invent, didn’t you?” He was almost sure. “You worked out the best way to approach Norwegian Ridgebacks just so that you could come up and stand next to them like this sometimes.”  
  
“Yes.” Ask never looked away from the Ridgeback. “Magnificent beasts.”  
  
“They are,” Harry agreed. The Ridgeback looked as if its face was coated with bloody drool, its tail swishing back and forth, and its neck bent at an angle Harry would have thought was impossible as its fangs sliced delicately through what might be sinew holding the seal together. “But I’m still amazed that someone took the trouble to come up with a way of approaching them. How many people died so you could do it?”  
  
Ask’s face twitched a little. “Two volunteers.”  
  
Harry shrugged, and ended up saying nothing. They had probably been Dragon-Keepers, and their deaths were probably indistinguishable from the other kinds of deaths that had happened at a dragon reservation. He turned back to watch the Ridgeback flay skin and muscle from a flipper with one small, smooth tug.  
  
Then the dragon’s head came up, and its chest creaked a little.   
  
“ _Run_ ,” Ask said, and darted off to the side, spinning and leaping around like a rabbit.  
  
Harry flung himself to the ground. He pulled Draco with him. He raised a shield above their heads that heated and turned transparent with the glow of the fire in the exact moment before the flame crashed against it.  
  
 _Fuck, what is it with dragons trying to kill us? This was supposed to be a relaxing holiday!  
  
_ *  
 _  
_Draco flinched as he felt his hair singeing and standing on end. He knew Harry’s shield would probably keep the dragonfire off him if it had so far, but the fire poured on and on, and Harry couldn’t keep this up forever.  
  
“You have to move!” Ask called from further away.  
  
Draco took a deep breath and touched Harry’s elbow. Harry nodded to show he’d heard without taking his eyes off the dragon. Draco didn’t even know how he was managing to  _look_ at it; its fangs and mouth glowed so brightly in the wake of the fire and its eyes were only distorted embers when Draco sneaked a glance.  
  
Draco began to move backwards on his elbows and heels. It hurt. But then, it was better than the pain that would come if they were consumed by dragonfire.  
  
Harry followed a second later. Apparently the dragon had stopped its flames because it needed to breathe, and at the same moment Harry let the shield he’d raised fray away into wisps of uselessness and conjured another one. The dragon coughed, and more fire slammed against that. Harry ignored it, his eyes fastened on the dragon’s mouth.  
  
“I have a plan,” he told Draco.  
  
“Oh,  _good_.”  
  
“Shut up, this is a good one,” Harry said, and Draco kept quiet because there was nothing else to do and  _he_ had no plan, not so much because he trusted Harry to know what was a sane plan and what wasn’t. “When the dragon pauses to breathe next time, turn and run like hell. Don’t look back, and try to hold your breath as much as you can.”  
  
That sounded like a good plan to Draco, with one exception. “What about you?”  
  
“Keep running!”  
  
The Ridgeback had indeed paused to draw in its breath. Harry turned and whipped back towards it, and Draco put down his head and pushed his legs to move. He was cursing in his mind. Hadn’t Harry promised just the other day that he wouldn’t take this kind of risk?  
  
When Draco heard coughing and sneezing and choking behind him, he did have to turn around and glance over his shoulder. He was in time to see the dragon rear backwards and start clawing at its nostrils, much the way that the Hebridean Black had when Harry had jumped on its nose. But this time, Harry had released something towards the dragon.  
  
Draco caught his breath, and sneezed.   
  
 _Black pepper. Where the hell did he find a spell that did that?_  
  
Draco choked again, and Harry streamed past him, grabbing his arm and tugging him onwards. Draco felt himself splashing knee-deep in water a second later. He grimaced. They could have run to the water and probably fended off the risks of the dragonfire there, without Harry taking the chances that he did to cast the pepper into the dragon’s nostrils.  
  
The Ridgeback didn’t follow them. It gave one more tremendous sneeze that roasted the air behind Draco, and then, when Draco chanced turning around in the water to look back over his shoulder, it returned to its meal. It did drag the remains of the carcass a little further away from the fjord, as if it thought it would have more privacy that way.  
  
Draco was perfectly willing to give it all the privacy it needed.  
  
*  
  
“You’ve perfected a way of approaching the dragon, huh?”  
  
Ask surveyed Harry for a moment, saying nothing. Harry just stared back. He wondered what Ask had expected. Someone who would simply slump back and do whatever Ask said he should, right after almost being burned alive by a dragon?  
  
 _Well. I wanted to come to a country where being the Boy-Who-Lived means nothing. And I got my wish._  
  
Harry swallowed back the sigh he wanted to give. He had expected the basic protection that Dragon-Keepers would exercise around a dangerous beast, though.  
  
“He doesn’t react like that often,” Ask said, and his posture straightened as he turned and gestured to Draco. “And neither of you are wounded.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but he felt Draco’s slight, restraining hand on his shoulder. Harry glanced at him, and saw Draco cock his head, his eyelids flicking for the barest moment.  
  
Harry had learned to trust that look. He’d only seen it a few times, but they were times of extreme stress that had turned out all right thanks to Draco. He took a step back.  
  
Draco nodded to him and turned to face Ask. His face had gone remote. “How long have you trained to approach the dragons?”  
  
“For seven years.” Ask seemed to think he was speaking to someone who shared the same side as him, although how he could when there was no spark in Draco’s eyes…  
  
Harry forced down his irritation and listened. He knew that Draco was trying to do something specific here, and in another moment, he might figure out what it was.  
  
“And how many visitors have you brought to commune with the dragons and approach them when they were feeding?” Draco continued, in swift, precise words that reminded Harry of the times he had heard an advocate speak in a courtroom.  
  
For the first time, Ask hesitated.  
  
Harry thought he saw what Draco was doing. He grinned and leaned back a little, removing himself from the conversation, letting Draco have the floor.  
  
“Not many visitors ask to be brought that close,” Ask said. “But when I heard that you’d come to the sanctuary and wanted to see dragons—really  _see_ them, you weren’t trying to steal eggs or make a profit on dragonhide or horn—then I thought I’d show you something beautiful.”  
  
“We did want to see something beautiful,” Draco said. “We could have watched it safely enough and beautifully enough from the very first hill where we began. Why did you  _insist_ on going closer? Bringing us closer? Why not go up and greet him by yourself? That’s what a MacFusty did when we visited the Hebridean Blacks, and it went fine.”  
  
Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he heard  _that_ particular characterization of their visit with Firewing. On the other hand, he supposed Ask wouldn’t check with the MacFustys, and it wouldn’t matter much if he did.  
  
“I wanted to share something I don’t get to share,” Ask said, and then his eyes suddenly glittered and his voice rose. “Even the  _others_ think I’m crazy! I only wanted to share something that appealed to me.”  
  
“The other Dragon-Keepers?” Draco asked, as if sympathetic.  
  
Ask nodded, and leaned around Draco to appeal to Harry. “I saw it in your face, when we watched him grab the seal. You can appreciate that kind of predatory grace and the way that he moves. You wanted to go closer.”  
  
“That’s not the same thing as doing it,” Harry said, and then shut his mouth when he saw Draco’s hand twitch behind his back. He really did need to be quiet and let Draco get on with things.   
  
“I don’t want you to cower before me,” Draco said. “Or grovel, or pay us anything. The important part is the apology. I want you to acknowledge that what you did was beautiful, but also dangerous. And pinpoint what you did wrong, because at some point in the future it could be  _you_  that the dragon tries to eat.”  
  
Ask paused and leaned around Draco to look at Harry again. “Is he real?”  
  
“He is, and you can’t have him,” Harry said. He knew he was probably looking at Draco with a soppy expression on his face. At least, Draco would call it that. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he knew Draco was doing this for him.  
  
On a holiday it hadn’t been his idea to come on. After being almost eaten by a dragon.  
  
Harry decided that this was as good a moment as any to find out that he was in love with Draco.  
  
*  
  
“Well.” Ask cleared his throat. His eyes were uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as the twitching muscles around his mouth, probably, but Draco didn’t think he needed to take account of that. He was far more impressed with the burning feeling of Harry’s stare boring into his back. It was hard not to turn around and kiss Harry and see what happened.  
  
“What happened?” Draco prompted. “And about that apology…”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Ask gave the words without any more prompting, which was something that let Draco believe he meant them. “I  _don’t_ know what went wrong. I’ve approached that one when he’s feeding before and as long as I act impressed and awed with his power, he’s never attacked. Maybe he felt that you weren’t being sufficiently impressed.”  
  
Draco gave Ask an icy smile. He had spoken the truth about not wanting to destroy the man’s dignity or bank account, but that last insinuation was unacceptable. “Had you ever approached him with visitors before?”  
  
“You know the answer to that.”  
  
“Then what right,” Draco asked quietly, “did you have to bring visitors near him, without explaining what we needed to do to act sufficiently impressed?”  
  
After a long, choking moment—well, presumably choking for Ask; Draco didn’t think it had to be for him—Ask inclined his head. Draco nodded. His heart was still pounding chaotically, but he no longer saw the vision of the dragon’s mouth looming above him, ready to incinerate him.  
  
“I apologize for doing something untested,” Ask said. “And I  _will_ do research and figure out what went wrong before I bring visitors near the dragons again.”  
  
“Good,” Draco told him quietly, and then tried out a smile that wasn’t as icy as the previous one. “It’s not that I think you endangered our lives on purpose. But showing off a dragon isn’t something to try until you have more practice.”  
  
“I know that. I’m the Dragon-Keeper, not you.”  
  
“If you  _knew_ it, as in understood it, then today wouldn’t have happened,” Draco said, and his voice wasn’t loud, but Ask jumped as if it was.  
  
For one moment more, they traded glares, and then Ask nodded. “I’m happy that you weren’t hurt,” he added abruptly, and turned away. He closed the door to the little hostel Harry and Draco were staying in behind him.  
  
“ _Well_.”  
  
Draco lifted his head. He knew Harry had come up behind him and was resting his hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t turn around yet. He could see Ask on the path that ran down the slope, since it was on the other side of their window, and he was curious to see what he would do.  
  
Ask paused for a second, appeared to mutter something to himself—or maybe someone invisible and standing under a Disillusionment Charm near him—and then turned and began to climb the slope on the path that led past the hostel. He was going towards another Dragon-Keeper, Draco judged, and he would report what had happened and ask for help in figuring it out. Or at least report what had happened.  
  
 _A happy ending, all in all_.  
  
“It really makes you look hot when you’re defending me like that,” Harry whispered into his ear.  
  
“How would you know what I look like?” Draco finally turned around and rested his hands lightly on Harry’s shoulders. “You were looking at the back of my head.”  
  
“I just know.” Harry bowed his head a little and sucked at the top of Draco’s ear. “But I did want to know why you wanted an apology instead of something more substantial.”  
  
Draco sighed and gathered his scattered thoughts, easier to do when Harry  _wasn’t_ acting like his ear was a delicious sweet. “Because you wouldn’t want me to do that to him. And because we didn’t get hurt, but he needed to understand that I was  _displeased_ with what had happened to you.”  
  
“And you.”  
  
“Yes.” Draco looked up at Harry’s chin, then his eyes. This point was too important to look elsewhere while he made it, because then there was the chance that Harry wouldn’t really listen to him. “You defend us with magic like filling a dragon’s mouth with black pepper and your bravery. This is the only way I have to defend us.”  
  
“It’s still hot,” Harry said, and in the kiss that followed, Draco felt as if he was the one whose mouth had been filled with black pepper.  
  
It was, unexpectedly, nice.  
  
And then he had more important things to worry about, and he could stop thinking both about what would have happened if the Ridgeback had been a little faster and what was going to happen on their next visit to a dragon preserve.


	5. Swedish Short-Snout

“Welcome, yes, of course,” Wilma Rask, their guide, said with a sweep of one robed arm. Her eyes were set so deep under brows so furrowed that it was a struggle for Draco to see that they were a hash blue. “But more to the point, we have an escaped dragon on our hands. Have you received training as an Auror? I think I heard that.”  
  
“Er,” said Harry. Even though Draco’s heart had bounded as though someone was trying to rip it out of his chest, he did have to smirk a little to see the way that Harry was trying to get his mental balance so abruptly. “Yes. I’m an Auror. But I’m not an Obliviator. Did Muggles already see the dragon?”  
  
He sounded more distant and confident with every minute that passed, as though someone had tried to roll him from his feet and he’d Stunned them in response. Rask studied him for a second, then seemed to decide she liked what she saw.  
  
“No.” She stepped back and led them out of the way of the Floo they’d come through. Glancing over his shoulder, Draco could see the silhouette of someone else getting ready to step out. “We have our own Obliviators. But we need help to cage the dragon before it burns down any more buildings.”  
  
“Any  _more_ buildings?” Draco asked, because he couldn’t help himself.  
  
“Yes.” Rask took him in with something like contempt in her eyes, and then turned pointedly away. She glanced at Harry. “We’ve sometimes heard through our colleagues that you did amazing things.”  
  
“Colleagues?” Harry looked as though he was looking around for Auror robes. “I thought you were a Dragon-Keeper. Do they work that closely with the Ministry that year?”  
  
“I was referring to fellow Dragon-Keepers who saw you take on dragons who were making an enormous problem and conquer them,” Rask said dryly. “Ask Idasson and Allison MacFusty both commended you to me.”  
  
Draco barely kept from rolling his eyes. Of course no one here really cared about Harry’s celebrity in British wizarding society, but he would pick up some notoriety of his own anyway.  
  
To his credit, Harry seemed to realize that he might not deserve that fame, or it might break his promise to Draco, because he smiled apologetically at him. “I did that,” he said. “But it was out of necessity, when the dragons were threatening me and my partner. I might not be as good at it when it involves hunting down and trapping, well, a dragon that isn’t right there.”  
  
“If you’re worried about not knowing the spells or improvising, you don’t need to,” said Rask. “We’ll teach you as we go. Ready?” She was already turning to face the door of the Floo station, as though Harry had agreed, walking along without giving him a backwards glance.  
  
“Rask. Wait.”  
  
Rask turned around and actually tapped her foot on the floor. Draco couldn’t restrain a cough of incredulity, but he managed to turn it into an actual cough when she turned to look at him. He  _wanted_ to shake his head, though.  _For fuck’s sake. Does she really think that Harry is so good he can jump at something an expert Dragon-Keeper would balk at?_  
  
“I don’t think I’m as good as you think I am.” Harry was brightly flushed, and he glanced at Draco as if he thought Draco would back him up. Draco just put a light hand on his shoulder. Harry seemed to draw strength from it anyway, and faced Rask with some determination. “And I promised my partner that I wouldn’t take any more unnecessary risks.”  
  
Draco relaxed a little.  _He did remember that promise. I’m impressed._  
  
“You’re still a bit of extra manpower when we’re short some hands thanks to the dragon’s burning two before it took off,” said Rask with imperturbable determination, her lip curling a little. “And I didn’t think you’d care that much about the nationality of the people you were saving. None of the descriptions of you said that.”  
  
“The descriptions aren’t always true,” Harry said, but Draco could tell he was weakening. He turned to Draco.  
  
“They need someone,” said Draco. He didn’t know whether the dragon was rampaging through a village or town or city, but it was evident that the Dragon-Keepers needed help. “Why don’t you go and do it?”  
  
Harry flashed him a brilliant smile, kissed his cheek, and then raced after Rask. She was telling him something in a voice so fast Draco couldn’t make out the words even before they turned on the spot and Disapparated. Draco sighed a little and turned to find his way to the hostel where he and Harry would be staying.  
  
“Draco  _Malfoy_?”  
  
Draco’s hand went at once to his wand; he had grown used to that tone in the last few years before he finally began to get some traction in his job and the social world around Britain, and people had stopped thinking he would turn back into a Death Eater at any second. But the face when he turned was so unexpectedly, joyfully familiar that he could only stare.  
  
“Pansy?” he finally whispered.  
  
*  
  
“Keep in mind that the Swedish Short-Snout has extremely hot fire, and they can fly faster than you’d think when you see the length of them. Keep that in mind, and you _might_ not die.”  
  
 _For someone who wants help,_ Harry thought, a little disgruntled, as he and Rask began to move slowly down the streets of the Swedish wizarding village the dragon had invaded,  _she sure sounds like no one but a Dragon-Keeper would really satisfy her to take care of the thing._  
  
He peered cautiously around a wall. The houses resembled the ones in Hogsmeade, but they were almost entirely made of stone, covered with roofs of hardened thatch that would probably shed rain and snow. The streets were wide, wandering, and deserted. Harry could see the mountains looming in the background and a small pool lapping up to the stones nearby.  
  
And then he could see the dragon.  
  
It did take him by surprise with how large it was and how swiftly it flew. Maybe it wasn’t larger than the Hungarian Horntail, but then, Harry hadn’t had to face once circling above him before he could fly himself. The dragon sliced the air like a glittering Muggle aeroplane—it was silver-blue and reminded him of a jet—before it pulled a soft breath into its nostrils and released it.  
  
The fire was blue and almost pretty, and Harry could feel it from here.  _Hot_ , he thought, before he raised his wand and shouted out the first incantation Rask had given him. She’d told him the wand movements were the same as for most other fire spells.  
  
“ _Ablegatio!_ ”  
  
The spell rose up like a firework and connected with the trailing edge of the flame before it could light more than a few shutters on fire. In seconds, the flame combusted inwards, silently, and vanished. Harry found himself shuddering from the power he’d expended to do that, though. Magic had flowed out of him for a full five seconds after the flame had disappeared.  
  
And the sight, or the sound of the spell, or both, had alerted the Short-Snout there was someone nearby. It settled to the ground in a second, behind a tall house, out of sight.  
  
Harry grimaced. Rask had asked him to serve as a distraction while the other Dragon-Keepers worked to weave a net around the village and get the dragon caught within it, tangling its wings so it couldn’t fly. By the looks of it, she’d already taken off to join them. This was going to take more than just casting a few fire-blocking spells here and there.  
  
He was glad Draco hadn’t heard Rask say that before they got out of sight.  
  
Harry strode casually into the middle of a particularly broad crossing of streets that he thought must be similar to a village square. His shoulders ached as though someone was pressing giant hands into them. He held out his wand and did the only thing he could think of. “Here, dragony, dragony, dragony!”  
  
He could hear a shocked gasp from someone behind him, probably one of Rask’s people. Harry didn’t bother looking in that direction. He didn’t have time, and he didn’t need to see a shaking head or a pointing finger.  
  
Besides, the dragon was already looking at him, slender neck curling around one side of a house. Harry dropped his hands a little and clapped them, fingers curling.  
  
The dragon took off towards him, wings whanging off roofs. Harry heard what sounded like tiles clashing and falling, and had a brief moment of satisfaction.  _I_ knew  _that couldn’t be thatch._  
  
Then the blue-silver shape was above him, shining like a dream or a unicorn, and the great fanged jaws were unhinging. Somewhere behind them, far down the throat, was fire that lit the night around them when it stabbed down.  
  
Harry whirled aside. The Swedish Short-Snout was precise with its flame, but at the moment, that precision was a problem for it. The flame stabbed the stones in a way that made them bubble and melt, but they weren’t the stones that Harry was standing on anymore.  
  
He held up his hands and lit his wand as he leaned against the side of the house, wriggling the point of brilliance back and forth to keep and hold the dragon’s attention. He could see a glittering net of magic starting up behind some of the houses. It was probably the spell Rask and the others were casting, but they had warned him that the Short-Snout could soar over it easily until it got higher than the roofs.  
  
“Want to play?” Harry asked under his breath as the dragon coiled its body a little. He thought it would breathe again, and he was ready once more to dodge. The hole that the flame had chewed in the stone beside him was actually not a problem, with heat bubbling out of it but sinking deeper and deeper, like magma.   
  
But the dragon didn’t breathe again. Instead it dived, one claw held out as if it was going to pick him up and carry him like a hawk.  
  
Harry didn’t wait to see if the dragon was as precise with its feet as it was with its fire. He vaulted straight into the air and cast a Sticking Charm as he landed, clinging to a wall on the other side of the house. Then he dropped down and ran madly towards the pool. He supposed that was safe, still within the radius of the houses.  
  
The dragon soared after him, shadow sweeping along the ground. Harry already knew it could fly faster than he could run.  
  
He  _ought_ to be scared sick. He really should. The jolts up his legs made him dizzy and he wanted to vomit.  
  
He ought to be sick.  
  
He ought to.  
  
But what he was, instead, was swift, plunging into the pool a second ahead of one reaching talon. He swam down into the water, cast a hasty Bubble-Head Charm as he popped up once, and then dived again. He felt the water vibrate and steam around him as the dragon breathed fire at him, but with the Bubble-Head Charm, he could dive deeply enough that the scalding didn’t trouble him.  
  
He turned and squinted up through the water. There was a shadow still circling around there, which meant he still had the Short-Snout’s attention. Good.  
  
Harry took a deep breath of the air in the bubble, although he knew it really didn’t make much difference, and then stoked straight up again. He heard the roar as he broke the surface, although it was oddly muted because of the charm.  
  
He cast a quick spell that made the water rise in a spout directly up at the dragon. It turned some more fire to steam, but better than that, it smacked the dragon in the chest and knocked its flying off-angle for a second. The Short-Snout roared angrily and struggled upright with a wavering beat of its wings.  
  
Even the roar was almost musical, Harry thought, tilting his head back as he trod water. The Short-Snout was faster and more agile and more beautiful and all sorts of _more_ than the other dragons he and Draco had seen on this holiday.  
  
As if it could hear him thinking, the Short-Snout turned and plunged towards the pool. Harry dropped back under the surface and swam down as fast as he could, but he wasn’t sure that it would be enough this time. Like a great bird, the Short-Snout landed and kept clawing, kept reaching, making Harry flail desperately out of the way.  
  
But even that couldn’t stop the song of Harry’s own heart in his ears, or his delight in being here and seeing the dragon. Though he did rather hope that the Dragon-Keepers would be quick about the net they were setting up.  
  
*  
  
“So what are you doing here with Potter?”  
  
Draco could feel his smile fading as he sat back from Pansy’s table and looked around her neat little home. It was made of layered wood and stone, melded together with magic, and snug despite the large glass windows and the view of snow-covered mountains outside. Draco wondered if she would mind if he wandered outside and simply neglected to answer her question.  
  
“You heard me,” said Pansy, and tapped a long, lacquered nail on the table. It was a fashion Draco didn’t remember her using when she lived in Britain. Of course, the last time he had seen her was years ago, and her life had probably changed just as much as his had.   
  
“I did.” Draco faced her and decided that he could answer with simple words and hope that satisfied her. Once, it would have. Pansy was curious like a leaping cat, and never curious enough to really chase down the source of other people’s lives and changes. “I started dating Potter a while ago. It’s casual, nothing more. Then he wanted to go on holiday, and he wanted to go see dragon sanctuaries. He invited me to come with him.”  
  
Pansy raised a hand as if she was going to stop Draco’s words from flying towards her. “I think you’re skipping the most fascinating part of all this, Draco dear.” Draco sipped some tea from his cup and raised her eyebrows, and Pansy gave him a slightly mean smile. “You and Potter. Dating.  _Go_.” She laid her palms on the table and waited.  
  
Draco kept himself from sighing, because that would only encourage her. He bit the inside of his cheek instead, and said, “It wasn’t that—that strange. We drew near each other over time. We forgave each other. There was no sudden night of passion when we tumbled into each other’s arms, or anything like that.”  
  
In fact, it had sometimes bothered Draco, that lack of anything that could be called a true beginning. He and Harry didn’t have a story, as such. They had dates, and then they had sleeping together, and meals together, and conversations that had never got that deep until Harry had asked Draco to come with him. Draco understood why, now. They had both been protecting their own hearts.  
  
 _And he was keeping from me exactly how dangerous his cases got. He thought that_ was  _protecting my heart._  
  
Draco shook his head a little and looked into Pansy’s eyes. “I keep thinking he’s going to leave me for a Gryffindor,” he said. “Someone he  _can_ share nights of tumultuous passion and a happy ending with.”  
  
“Tell me when he does it,” Pansy said. “I’ll curse the bint.” She leaned forwards with a little clap of her nails. “Now.  _Tell_ me.”  
  
“I already did—”  
  
“Not  _that_.” Pansy waved her hand again. “Tell me what it’s like to sleep with Harry Potter.”  
  
*  
  
Dodging a dragon’s talons turned out to be more complicated than Harry had anticipated.  
  
The Short-Snout was able to stand on one foot and feel around with the other. Harry flung himself aside from a claw that ended up sticking in his shoulder for a second and spilling blood into the water. He heard, as from a dream, the triumphant screech of the dragon, and then it ducked its head and tried to clap its jaws on him.  
  
But Harry was already away, standing up in the shallower part of the pool and firing a Conjunctivitis Curse at the dragon. He wasn’t lucky enough to hit, but the way it had to flail in turn and roar granted him the time he needed to duck away.  
  
Plus, he was able to cast a small Diagnostic Charm on his shoulder. He sighed in relief when it turned out that the wound was a narrow, clean slash, Long, but not wide. He cast a Healing Charm at it, and then dived once more as a foot smashed the surface right above his head.  
  
The dragon seemed to be getting impatient. Harry saw it turn around in the water, dragging its tail. The wings lowered and beat, and then the dragon started using their edges to churn up the pool and the loose dirt and rock at the bottom.  
  
 _Not fair_. Harry hadn’t even known that Swedish Short-Snouts could do that. On the other hand, the books he’d consulted did say that they were pretty fierce, and the dragon probably wanted him badly by now.  
  
Harry popped up again, fired another Conjunctivitis Curse, and ducked under. This time, the screech that rang behind him, higher-pitched than the roar, let him know that it’d landed.  
  
And then he heard something else, like a large sighing of wind through a million owl wings. Harry rolled over in the water and looked up apprehensively. The last thing he needed was this dragon’s mate or something coming to help it.  
  
But instead, it seemed the Dragon-Keepers had finally readied their net. It settled over the surface of the pool for a second. Harry got ready to cut through the soft, ultra-fine strands of magic—if he could—if they tried to take him in.   
  
In the end, though, the net contracted around the Short-Snout and hauled it back towards the village. With one eye blinded and perhaps with its wings and fire worn out by the damage it had already caused, the dragon didn’t really fight back. It climbed wearily out of the water, silver-blue scales running and streaming with liquid, and lay down on the shore with a final wavering scream.  
  
“Auror Potter?”  
  
It was Rask. Harry nodded and splashed out of the pool to meet her and the other two Dragon-Keepers—both dressed in much heavier padded robes than he was wearing, Harry couldn’t help noticing—standing with her. He removed the Bubble-Head Charm and said, “Yes. I had to blind one eye. That’s not going to cause permanent damage, is it?”  
  
“They’ve already reversed the spell,” Rask assured him. She stood in front of him with her hands folded near her stomach and her eyes shining.  _She’s like me,_ Harry thought, studying her.  _She enjoys danger._ “You did well. Thanks to you, we were able to capture the dragon without undue damage to its wings.”  
  
“And without undue damage to the village, either,” added one of the other Dragon-Keepers, frowning at Rask.  
  
“Oh. Yes.” Rask’s shrug said so clearly that she thought the dragon was more important, Harry had to restrain a snigger. “Well. I’m glad that you were here.” She nodded in a friendly way to Harry. “I’ll invite the two of you for a tour of the sanctuary tomorrow, if you like. With dragons at a safe distance.”  
  
“I’m sure my partner will appreciate that,” Harry said, and cast a Drying Charm on his hair. “Do you know where Draco is? He’d probably like to know I’m all right.”  
  
*  
  
“You haven’t given me nearly enough details,” Pansy complained, leaning back in her chair and swinging her heel so fast Draco thought she would probably crash her foot into his leg. “All these things about  _feelings_. Not enough about  _sensations_.”  
  
Draco had sometimes been good at ignoring Pansy when he wanted to, and now he was good at it again. Leaning back in his chair, he scanned the sky, wondering if they would get to see the dragon before it loosed fire on Pansy’s house.  
  
Then he sat up and stared. There  _was_ a dragon drifting above the nearest mountain slope, but it wasn’t flying. It seemed to float in the middle of a conjured net, the ends of which were held by several marching people. Walking at the head of the line was a figure in different robes, and shaggy black hair Draco could recognize even at this distance.  
  
“Darling, where  _are_ you going?”  
  
But Draco didn’t respond as he tore out of Pansy’s house and down the slope a bit. When he thought he could see enough of the ground between him and Harry that he wouldn’t end up Splinched, he Apparated.  
  
He appeared right in front of Harry, who didn’t even blink. He just swung Draco around and smiled at him, kissing him on the cheek with a resounding smack. Draco flushed and wrapped his arms around Harry to keep his balance, then looked up at the dragon in the middle of the net.  
  
“You captured him.” He must have sounded stupid, because Rask darted him a hard glance.  
  
But Harry didn’t care about that any more than he cared about Draco kissing him right in front of everyone. “Right, I did,” he said, with a nod. “It took some water and a Conjunctivitis Curse—well, a few of them, the first one didn’t land—and some Healing spells, but I got him. Even if he wounded me.”  
  
Draco pulled back at once. Normally he would have thought he’d notice if Harry was injured, but perhaps it was under his clothes. “ _Where_?”  
  
He saw where, before Harry could answer him. A long strip of thin cloth still dangled from Harry’s robe’s shoulder, and there was a pink line in the skin underneath it, although it had been cleaned of blood. Draco put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and did some hostile glaring that Harry answered with an unrepentant shrug.   
  
“It wasn’t deep, and it did heal,” Harry said.  
  
“You  _idiot_ ,” Draco hissed at him. “I suppose you think I wouldn’t be devastated if you died? That because this has been casual so far, you don’t think I would have a right to mourn?”  
  
“I—er—”  
  
“I have as good a right as anyone else,” Draco said, and decided that Harry had been walking on his feet for too long. He conjured a stretcher, cast a Lightening Charm on Harry, picked him up, plopped him into the stretcher, and then leaned over to kiss him.  
  
Harry looked a little surprised, but also not inclined to object. He leaned his neck up and kissed Draco hard enough to numb Draco’s lips. Draco didn’t give a shit. He raised the stretcher into the air with a flick of his wand and moved a little so that he could continue kissing Harry from a more convenient angle.  
  
A little gasp behind him made him turn, although he still only ended the kiss when he was damn good and ready. Pansy was standing there with her hand over her mouth and her half-lidded eyes moving from him to Harry.  
  
“Well,” she said. “ _Now_ I think I understand.”  
  
Harry blinked at Draco in response, but Draco leaned over and gave Harry another kiss, and he forgot to ask.  
  
Which was all to the good, in Draco’s opinion. He and Harry had things to talk about, but they didn’t necessarily include Pansy.  
  
 _They might include why he wants to keep risking his life, though. I could do with some information about that._


	6. Recovery

“I do think we need to talk about this.” Draco’s voice was as soft and persistent as water dripping onto rock.  
  
Harry turned around to face him. He sat on one bed in the hostel and Draco sat across from him, leaning forwards so far that he seemed poised to fall off. Harry shook his head a little. “I tried to tell them that we only needed one bed, but they didn’t believe me and gave us two beds anyway. I’m sorry. It’s not something I meant to do.”  
  
Draco gave him an enormous squint. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“The, um.” Harry took a moment to scratch the back of his neck and try not to react with frustration when Draco’s eyes went to his shoulder and narrowed. He  _hadn’t_ been badly injured. If Draco wanted to talk about that, then Harry thought they’d be done in thirty seconds. “What I thought was bothering you. Two beds.”  
  
“No,” said Draco, and he sat up and moved across the room to settle in next to Harry. Harry leaned against him, partially because that hid his face in Draco’s shoulder. “I’m talking about your tendency to dash into danger and not even look over your shoulder before you do it.”  
  
“Right,” Harry said. “I did try to make a promise to do better this time.”  
  
“This time, and all times.” Draco gripped his arm. “I told you to go with them because I trusted you. Was that trust misplaced?”  
  
“No,” Harry said. “I did take fewer risks, and I came back alive.” Then he thought about the Swedish Short-Snout plunging its feet into the pool, and winced. He knew he could have been boiled alive or received a much worse scratch.  
  
The problem was, all those things only mattered  _after_ the fact. He understood what Draco was saying, and he agreed that he should be more careful. But it was always hard to remember at the time.  
  
“But not no risks.” Draco’s voice was very low. “I saw Rask. All she cared about was the dragon. And you—they used you as  _bait_.”  
  
“With my consent,” Harry said.  
  
Draco turned his head to the side, until he looked like a dragon himself, like Firewing trying to see if anyone had tasty treats for him. But Harry knew exactly how much trouble he would get into for saying that right now, so he kept quiet.   
  
“What I want to discuss is the mentality that makes you take risks  _and_ agree to things like that,” said Draco. His voice was lower than any dragon’s growl, or at least it felt like it. Harry could swear it vibrated in his bones as they sat there. “Why did you agree? Why not have one of them play bait instead, since they probably knew the village and the dragon better?”  
  
Harry sighed. He knew the answer, although he didn’t know if it was one that would satisfy Draco. He would have to hope… “Because they asked for my help.”  
  
Draco jerked back from him like the Short-Snout bouncing against the inside of the net. “And that matters more to you than me asking you to stay out of it?”  
  
 _Uh-oh._  Harry reached for Draco, but he stood up as if accidentally and paced back and forth outside Harry’s arm length. Harry sighed and folded his arms on his lap and spoke as gently and peacefully as he could. “I didn’t—no, that’s not what I meant. You granted me permission to go, so that’s what I took.”  
  
“Banking on that permission to keep me from being angry. I  _see_.” Draco folded his arms and stared over Harry’s head. There wasn’t a window there, or Harry would have suspected him of trying to lose himself in the view.  
  
“I’m new to this, Draco,” Harry said. “Ron and Hermione and the other Aurors are the only ones who know exactly how much danger I put myself in on Auror cases. I didn’t have anyone else I was willing to let that close before, anyone who would see where my heart was and risk their own heart alongside mine. Their emotional quiet alongside my physical safety. You’re the first one I’ve wanted to go that far with.”  
  
Draco dropped his head down. Then he said, “But you get into that kind of danger outside of Auror cases.”  
  
Harry drew another breath that made his chest feel tight. He also knew the answer to this one. “That’s because—people ask me for help, and all I can think of is how fortunate I am, and how much I could help.”  
  
Draco turned around and gave him a baffled glance.  
  
“I’m so much more fortunate than lots of people in the war were,” Harry said softly. “I lost lots of people I loved, but other people lost more. Or they also lost their homes, and their wands, and their magic, and the use of their hands. Or they can never go into the Ministry without starting to suffer flashbacks. I’m not as wounded. Or I’m actually stronger than they are.” Harry shrugged. He didn’t like thinking like that, because so much of what he had done was in terms of luck rather than strength. “Either way, I can give of my time to help them. To let them get back on their feet or not suffer more.”  
  
Draco’s face worked for a moment. Then he said, “That’s very noble, but there’s someone else who needs you that you’re not considering.”  
  
“Who?” Harry asked, unable to think what Draco meant. He had assumed that the whole problem Draco had was Harry considering other people’s needs.  
  
“Me.” Draco came forwards one step and knelt in front of Harry, clasping his hand and looking into his eyes. His voice lowered to a whisper. “I need you alive for me to love. I need you with me. If you rush off into dangerous situations all the time, then—it doesn’t help me feel that you care about me.”  
  
That was a perspective Harry hadn’t considered before. He reached out and wound his fingers through Draco’s. “I haven’t had anyone close to me who’s asked for that before,” he whispered.  
  
“I know. Because people have rarely been close to you.” Draco sat back on his heels and looked up at him through his fringe. “But I really need for you to promise this to me, Harry. To promise me I’m just as important as a Dragon-Keeper who runs up to you out of nowhere and asks for your help. Am I?”  
  
*  
  
Draco knew he was trembling. It was worst in his hands. He tried to keep them on the floor, between his knees, as he stared at Harry and kept back the bitterness crawling and foaming in his throat.   
  
 _I have to be. I have to be, or I’m leaving._  
  
But he didn’t want to bring that up right now, or threaten Harry. The threat should be clear enough in what he’d said so far. He sat and watched, and watched the struggle that took place in Harry.  
  
“You’re not less important to me,” Harry finally whispered. “It’s just—I’ve been likely to take off so quickly that it’ll take some time to change things. If I slip up, I don’t want you to think that means I don’t—”  
  
He seemed to go into another internal struggle. Draco thought he was probably searching for what words to use. He opened his mouth to provide Harry with some soothing ones. He wasn’t completely satisfied, himself, but he did at least have evidence now that Harry was trying to think of him instead of just taking off.  
  
“If I slip up,” Harry said, all at once in a gasp, as if he’d been sucking in a breath as he surfaced from deep water, “I don’t want you to think that means I don’t love you.”  
  
Draco gaped at him. He thought for a second that of all the places Harry could have had this revelation, a hostel was one of the least appropriate.   
  
But he shook that out of his head and reached up to cradle Harry’s cheeks tenderly. “Do you?” he whispered. “That’s something you just now realized?”  
  
“I realized it a few days ago. When you were defying Ask and I realized that I liked you fighting for me.” Harry reached up and took Draco’s hand in a tight grip, moving it back and forth in a slow circle on his own face. “That’s another reason that I’ve tried to keep people from fussing over me, you know. Because the ones who do generally wanted to get close to me and then prevent  _other_ people from getting close to me.”  
  
“I want to keep dragons from eating you and Dragon-Keepers from using you as bait. Does that count?”  
  
Harry gave him a fleeting grin, but went on studying him, and Draco knew he needed a serious answer. He bowed his head a little and murmured, “I love you, too. It took me a long time to recognize the emotion.”  
  
“As long as you feel it, and  _don’t_  feel like you have to say it because I did.”  
  
“Way to undermine everyone who cares about you,” Draco muttered, although he rolled his eyes so Harry wouldn’t get anxious. “No. I think I needed you to say it first. To take that step. That’s the kind of rush into danger I approve of,” he added, and leaned up, and bore Harry softly back into the bed, gently moving so that Harry’s legs were sprawled on either side of him.  
  
He watched the entire time, to make sure Harry’s wound wasn’t acting up and he wouldn’t hurt from this, but all Harry looked like he was about to die of was anticipation. Draco smiled. He still used magic to take their clothes off, though, because it would involve Harry moving around less.  
  
“Here…” Harry began, and reached for his own wand, but Draco was the one who shook his head, removed his clothes, and conjured lube, all by magic.  
  
“Watch, then,” Draco said, and carefully made Harry’s cock so slick with the lube that it was difficult to hold onto. Then he reached back and dabbed a little around his own arse. But it was awkward and hard to reach, and he finally snorted and knelt up so Harry could reach him. “Here,” he added, and conjured more lube into Harry’s palms.  
  
Harry’s face was a wonder, skin so red, eyes so wide, and arousal so visible in the way his hands shook. Draco closed his own eyes and sighed in pleasure as Harry slid his fingers carefully inside Draco. He’d been trying to keep them open as long as he could, to savor the sight of Harry. But some things were impossible.  
  
When he thought he was ready—which was before Harry thought he was, if the way his wet hands tightened on Draco’s hips indicated anything—Draco settled back, lined himself up with exquisite care, and then plunged down.  
  
It felt like fire, but that didn’t mean complete pain. Draco opened his eyes and smiled at Harry, bobbing slowly back and forth while Harry still looked like he was trying to cling to sanity by his fingernails.  
  
“Could you  _warn_ me when you do that?” Harry finally gasped.  
  
“And take all the fun out of it?” Draco wriggled and settled himself some more, then wriggled to the side, and then forwards.  _Ah, there._ He hit himself in the prostate and sighed luxuriously, opening an eye to check on Harry. No, the small line on his shoulder still showed no sign of splitting.  
  
“I’m going to do the work here,” Draco said.  
  
“I’m not  _that_ hurt—”  
  
“It’s because I want to.” Draco’s eyebrow went commandingly up, and Harry gratifyingly shut up in the same amount of time. “You should think about what I want more often now, since you’re in love with me. Right?”  
  
“Er,” said Harry. He seemed not to have considered that point of view before.  
  
Given where his cock was right now, Draco couldn’t exactly blame him. But he rocked idly back and forth, putting the pressure on, until Harry let his head flop back and said, “Oh,  _Merlin_. Whatever you want.”  
  
Draco nodded graciously. They could have a real conversation about this later and figure out what they were going to do about Harry’s impulses.  
  
But for now, the only thing Draco really wanted was to gratify those impulses. He raised himself and sat down again, and it was  _excellent_. Then he did it again, and he was awash in pleasure, sighing and moaning because he couldn’t hold himself back.  
  
From the sounds that Harry made below him, he at least wasn’t alone. Draco settled himself even more firmly into place with a small wriggle, and Harry groaned in a way that raced straight up Draco’s spine and exploded like a firework into his brain. Draco smiled and went on rocking, his eyes half-closed and his body aching with goodness.  
  
Harry writhed beneath him and pushed back against him, and that was even better. Draco ended up draped over Harry’s chest, his cheek against the pounding rhythm beneath him that was Harry’s heart.   
  
Harry’s hips were just making little flexing motions, now. Draco closed his eyes and rode the motions, letting them rock through him. This was the moment he loved best, when they got like this and could make themselves known to each other without a lot of movement.  
  
Harry gave a soft gasp and clenched one hand in Draco’s hair as if Draco was blowing him instead of on top of him. Draco smiled into Harry’s skin, and then sat back and let the warm glow fade as he met Harry’s eyes.   
  
“Ready?” he whispered.  
  
“Always,” Harry whispered back.  
  
Draco nodded, and then began to jam himself more fiercely up and down. The world was spinning around him, his head ached, and he felt as if his arse was starting to burn. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long.  
  
But Harry had already come, so he wouldn’t have to. And Draco had got more than expert at satisfying himself with Harry, who was one of the more generous lovers Draco had ever had. A few snaps of his hips, a bow of his head until his hair was rasping over his ears and he was hissing, and then he was over the edge himself, in a torrent of bliss that washed away all the aches like a hot shower.  
  
Harry held him as he lay there. Draco finally groaned and rolled off, and reached languidly for his wand.  
  
“You can leave it until tomorrow,” Harry breathed in his ear.  
  
“No, because then it’ll be gross,” Draco muttered back, and Harry rolled his eyes and let his hand fall into the middle of Draco’s back.  
  
Draco didn’t bother to move fast when he cast the charm, though, because Harry was right about  _some_ things. He didn’t have to hurry. He was the only one, other than Harry, here. He was the only one who had to care.  
  
But just because of that, he wanted to care, and he didn’t stop using his wand until he and Harry were both clean and lay under sheets that he’d warmed up with magic, too. Harry immediately rolled over until his face was tucked into Draco’s ribs and began breathing in the slow, sonorous way that meant he had slid straight off to sleep for once.  
  
Draco was trying to memorize the shape of Harry’s shoulder when he slid away himself.  
  
*  
  
“Not that I’m not glad to see you, Pansy,” Draco was saying, a smile on his face that made him look relaxed as he leaned back in his chair. Harry knew him well enough by now to make out his tension, though. It was in the way his leg slightly bounced off the edge of his chair. “But yesterday, we were so busy talking about me, I completely missed what you were doing in Sweden.”  
  
“We could still talk about you,” said Parkinson. “And  _you_.” She leered at Harry. It was a good leer, Harry thought, fighting down a shiver.  
  
“You have enough details to last you a lifetime,” Draco said, which rather made Harry wonder what Parkinson had wanted to know about. Then he thought of the leer, and hastily banished the thought from his mind. “Anyway. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me that you’ve joined the Dragon-Keepers.”  
  
“Draco.” Shuddering as if offended by the mere suggestion, Parkinson stood and moved around the room. Watching her, Harry thought he could make out the traces of some kind of training in her walk and stance. Not Auror, he was certain. Maybe Unspeakable, or some kind of dueling, or even dance. “Of course not. I have an important Ministry position.” She cast a triumphant glance over her shoulder, making Draco scowl.  
  
 _I’ll have to ask him why it’s triumphant later,_ Harry thought, and slipped his hand into Draco’s.  
  
“I help negotiate appropriate treaties and compensation for the sale of dragon products to Britain.” Parkinson looked out her window and smiled a little as she sipped at the cup of steaming tea she held. At least, Harry thought it was tea. It smelled like the inside of a dusty bathroom. “It’s a good job. A sweet life.”  
  
“Not nearly the sort of thing I had thought you would be doing,” said Draco. He sounded diplomatic.  
  
“Of course not.” Parkinson turned a lazy wrist towards him. “But you didn’t think much at all the last time I knew you, Draco dear.”  
  
“Why do you call him dear when you keep insulting him?” Harry asked. He was getting a little tired of Parkinson. And besides, he was curious and wanted to know the answer.  
  
If Draco had really given away lots of “details” about Harry, it was the least he could ask for.  
  
“Oh, it’s tradition,” said Parkinson. Now Harry really thought he probably shouldn’t have asked the question, since there was a sort of unholy gleam in Parkinson’s eyes. “At one time, you know, I thought I would marry Draco.”  
  
“You were the one who thought that,” Draco said, narrowing his eyes. “I always knew that I wanted to marry someone else.”  
  
“And that’s one reason I can insult him,” Parkinson told Harry, coming back to the table and setting down her cup. She gave Draco a critical look, then reached out and readjusted his hair. Harry couldn’t actually see what was different about it when she was done, but Parkinson seemed satisfied. “I did think it. I was close to him in my imagination. I dreamed about our wedding.”  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably. Parkinson gave him a grin that Harry thought he would otherwise be most likely to see coming at him very fast through bloodstained water.   
  
“But it turned out not to work,” Parkinson said, with a little shrug that flipped off a weight of thoughts Harry wasn’t so ready to dismiss. She sat down again and nodded at both of them, Draco first. “I’m glad that you’ve found someone who can fulfill all your fantasies, darling. I’m  _also_ glad that it’s not me.”  
  
Draco laughed and responded to that in a like manner, and Harry was left to sit there and shake his head. He would never understand Slytherin friendships.  
  
Still, he thought as he watched the lights and shadows play over Draco’s face from Parkinson’s gently flickering fire, he could keep trying. He was willing to make a lot of effort for Draco. Simply making  _this_ effort shouldn’t dismay him this much.  
  
Draco caught his eye, and reached out under the table to entwine his fingers with Harry’s. Harry took a deep, glad breath.  
  
Parkinson could look at them with a knowing eye all she liked, which she immediately proceeded to do. The important thing was if they understood each other.  
  
And Harry thought they had, at least, got a lot closer.


	7. Hungarian Horntail

_You would never know dragons lived here if you were only looking in one direction,_ Harry thought. In front of him, the Northern Hungarian Mountains were covered with marching trees. They were green enough and deep enough that Harry understood why the Dragon-Keepers had chosen to put their reserve here. It looked like beautiful country for a dragon to fly over and hunt in. Even Horntails, the vicious bastards.  
  
But then he turned and looked behind him, and…well.  
  
The slopes beneath him on the south were decorated with clawed-down trees. Small fires still smoldered there. Their guide, Szabó Margit, who had told them to call her Margit, had said that a pair of courting Horntails had recently left the area.  
  
“Courting?” Draco had asked.  
  
Margit ducked her head and shrugged. “Better than fighting,” she said. “In the case of fighting, we would have a dragon corpse to take care of as well.”  
  
“How do you keep them hidden from Muggles at all?” Harry asked her now, as she led them on a roundabout trail that looked as if it plunged into the trees immediately beneath them. Harry had already turned several corners that looked out on sudden views and startling valleys, though, so he was willing to bet it didn’t.  
  
“It’s a battle.” Margit blew a thin strand of dark hair out of her face and turned to look at him, walking confidently backwards on the path. Draco muttered something about “showing off,” but Harry didn’t think that was it. Margit was just so comfortable on the trails that she thought everyone must have the same level of comfort. “We make use of Muggle-Repelling Charms. We have to keep going in and altering maps. The Muggles around here don’t know how big the country actually is.” She shrugged. “I understand that many other Dragon-Keepers do the same thing in other countries.”  
  
“Maybe they do,” Harry said, startled. It wasn’t something he had studied. “But what about the fires back there?”  
  
“Charms to contain smoke, smother the flames as soon as we can, and a dragon who likes to eat ash,” said Margit promptly. “And if you want to call it lucky, the humans they eat are mostly wizards, who the Muggle government isn’t likely to miss anyway.”  
  
Draco visibly shuddered. For that matter, Harry was remembering the Horntail he had fought, and feeling much the same way. If he had gone down its gullet, he doubted any trace of him would have remained, even ashes.  
  
“May I ask a question?”   
  
Harry blinked and turned back to Margit. “Sure. Although I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I only looked up some things about the dragons in each country, not how the Keepers kept them away from Muggles.”  
  
Margit smiled, but her eyes were intense. She hopped over a pebble and turned forwards again. Without surprise, Harry saw a gleaming wall of steel and stone ahead that hadn’t been at all visible from above. “If you fear these dragons so much, why are you here?”  
  
“I want to give myself something wild,” Harry said. “Something different to see. And then I invited Draco to come with me for much the same reason.”  
  
“I am not  _wild_.” Draco sounded a little offended.  
  
Harry turned back to him and smiled. “I know. Not even your hair.” He waited until Draco had obviously controlled the impulse to raise his hand and check on his hair, then whispered, “I wanted to teach myself to see you differently.”  
  
Draco’s face softened, and for a second he stood looking at Harry as though he had forgotten what waited ahead. Harry slung an arm around his shoulder, and they kept waiting.  
  
“I can promise they are wild.” Margit walked up to what looked like a corner of the wall in front of them and laid her wand against it. It took long moments before a hidden gate rumbled back and let them in, much longer than Harry had seen with similar charms in Britain. “You need to keep well back.” She darted Harry a glance. “Even if you fought one once.”  
  
Harry nodded, not really surprised she’d heard about that. “So you got told by someone who was there?”  
  
“Yes. A distinctive name, at least for someone who watched you ride a Firebolt around a Horntail.” Margit frowned at him. “And we’ve heard a few things from our colleagues more recently. We’re not in Sweden now. We won’t ask you to participate in recapturing one of our dragons, even on the slight chance that one of them got out while you’re here.”  
  
“Good,” said Harry and Draco at the same time.  
  
Harry didn’t look at Draco, but he could feel the delight in Draco’s hand where it gripped his arm. He smiled and looked around at the sanctuary that Margit had led them into, wondering how the wall could contain creatures who could fly.  
  
He saw after a moment. The wall bulked solidly along the ground, but the real containment extended above that. Harry saw the lazy swirls of magic traveling back and forth, cloudy blue and black. They didn’t stay in one place, and sometimes the air where they were looked clear. But they would always come back in a few minutes.  
  
“I’ve never seen a defense like that,” Draco murmured, awed.  
  
“One of the sorts of magic that some of our ancestors used against people who wanted to conquer us.” Margit was smiling grimly, staring up at the top of the wall. “We fought alongside Muggles then. They’ve forgotten it, of course. But watch.” She scooped up one of the pebbles from the ground in front of them and threw it at the wall, muttering a spell that caused it to rise abruptly.  
  
The pebble hit the swirling black-and-blue shapes, and in an instant the whole top of the wall was covered with them as they flared into being. Harry blinked and shaded his eyes. It looked like lightning connected them, and the shapes closed on the pebble, moving what might have been serpentine heads back and forth. In a few seconds, the pebble had disappeared.  
  
“Do you ever lose any dragons to your own defenses?” Draco asked, a question that made Harry smile at him. It was an interesting question, and one that proved Draco was getting interested in this for itself, not just because Harry had dragged him along and he had no choice.  
  
“No,” said Margit. “The younger ones can’t fly well enough to get beyond the wall, and the older ones aren’t stubborn enough to need more than two shocks.” She turned around to walk on.  
  
“Yet the fire was  _beyond_ the wall,” Draco said, cautiously, as if he was afraid of annoying Margit.  
  
 _Also a good thought,_ Harry decided, and one that he hadn’t even considered. He squeezed Draco’s hand as he listened for Margit’s reply.  
  
“We have to let a few of them out at a time when they want to mate or fight,” said Margit, shaking her head as she turned down a slope that was mostly loose rock and dirt with a few toppled logs at the bottom. Harry followed her cautiously. “Leave them behind the wall, and the others will start thinking they have a right to interfere. And it is _not_ pretty when that happens.” She sounded grim.  
  
Harry could imagine it. “Are there protections to stop the Horntails from coming right up to us?”  
  
Margit’s answer got lost in a violent crackling of wood from below. She promptly flung a hand back at them and drew her wand. Harry was more than happy to hold still, although it was difficult when he was crouched halfway down the hill. Draco, who was in a better position, caught his arm and helped him maintain his position.  
  
Beneath them, a young Horntail surfaced. It had to be young, Harry thought. At least, it was a lot smaller than the one that had been in the Tournament. It had a struggling shape in its mouth.  
  
The Horntail creaked its neck to the side and bit down, and Harry made out a flash of white. He really hoped that meant it was a sheep and not a helpless wizard in white robes.   
  
Yes, it was. A moment later, Harry could hear the thing’s terrified bleating. The only bad thing—well, the  _worst_ thing—was that it was still alive while the Horntail was playing with it.  
  
“Can’t you do something?” Harry breathed to Margit, who was standing in front of them as if she wanted to block the Horntail from seeing him and Draco.  
  
“Do what?” Margit shook her head, eyes on the dragon. There was a strange expression on her face, Harry thought. Not the love that had been there for Rask when she looked at the Swedish Short-Snout, or the kind of weird trust in Firewing that Allison MacFusty had. Just a silent, patient waiting, and a breathless expectancy. “They always play with their prey alive. Like cats. Do you try to stop a cat with a mouse?”  
  
Harry said nothing, because at the moment, for some reason, he could think of nothing but Crookshanks and Scabbers.  
  
He watched, instead, as the dragon jammed its jaws down on the sheep and finally bit deeply enough to bring an end to its struggles. The dragon tore and shook its head, and one piece of the body spun down until it landed at its feet. The dragon reared up, using one hooked joint of its wing to shove the sheep’s body more deeply into its mouth.  
  
Blood gushed down its black scales. There was such absolute wildness in its eyes that Harry couldn’t look away from them. But he leaned against Draco to show that he hadn’t forgotten him.  
  
“Ah,” Margit breathed a second later. “It’s Crackskull. We thought she had got a little…testy lately.”  
  
“Is she named for cracking sheep skulls?” Harry asked cautiously, backing one step when it seemed the Horntail’s head was swinging towards him. But a second later, she turned and started to move back into the forest, so she probably hadn’t seen him. “Or human?”  
  
“Neither.” Margit pointed. Harry could see a long, thin line winding down the back of the Horntail’s head, now that he was looking. “See that? A scar from one of her clutchmates. She was lucky to escape with only that much. She was the smallest of the hatchlings in her clutch.”  
  
“How old is she now?” Draco’s voice was firm, and Harry turned to look at him. Like Margit, he was standing with his eyes practically fixed on Crackskull as she moved away, but he didn’t seem breathlessly frightened.  
  
“Oh, fifteen years,” said Margit, starting to move down the hill again. “On the cusp of maturity. She won’t lay her eggs for a few years yet, but she’ll start courting, and then she’ll become even  _more_ violent.”  
  
Margit sounded dreamy. Harry shook his head. “I wanted to see them, but I don’t think I could ever be as comfortable around them as you are.”  
  
“Since you had to fight a Horntail when you were a teenager, probably not.”  
  
“One would think that was enough exposure to dragons for a lifetime,” Draco muttered. Surprisingly, it was Margit who answered and not Harry.  
  
“A Horntail destroyed my family’s home,” she said quietly, moving ahead around a bend in the path. Harry didn’t think it was his imagination that she held her wand more tightly until she could see that there was no dragon ahead of them, and more loosely afterwards. “My father was a poacher who specialized in eggs just about to hatch. That was before the bans on trading were so tightly enforced. Our house was a few miles from the border of the sanctuary, and the mother came looking for us.”  
  
“What happened?” Harry hated to sound like he was a kid begging for a story, but he assumed Margit had a reason for telling them this, anyway.  
  
Margit turned and smiled at him, one elbow braced on the tree. “The mother took off the top of the house. She loomed over us. I remember feeling as if I was going to fall into her nostrils. Just  _one_ of them. She was that big. I thought—she could crush me and never notice. She could eat me, too, of course, but what mattered most was the indifference.”  
  
“Why did it matter?” Draco asked. He was looking at Margit as if he thought she was crazier than Harry. Harry appreciated that he at least had a sliding scale.  
  
“Because I realized there were people and creatures in the world that would never care about me.” Margit shrugged a little and reached back to scratch her shoulder blade. “I was the sort of child who worried so much about little things like whether my sister had stolen my favorite toy. After I looked up into the dragon’s face, I realized there was so much else in the world. And I stood there, and I wasn’t afraid. I wanted to be closer to her.”  
  
“Well, I reckon there are people who like thunderstorms and giant waves in the ocean, too.”  
  
Harry grinned. Draco sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “But you seem so cautious around them,” he told Margit.  
  
“The dragon took her eggs back, and she lifted them in one claw. Then she breathed and set everything we owned at the time on fire. My father had anticipated something like that, and he had an escape tunnel dug.”  
  
Margit hunched her shoulders for a second. “So I admire them, but yes, I am cautious around them. Because of one, we were poor for years, and my father didn’t dare go back to his trade. That one dragon had his scent now, and she would have hunted him down if he set foot in the sanctuary again.”  
  
She turned back to the trail. Harry followed her thoughtfully.  
  
“I take it back. There are plenty of crazy people in the world. And I thought you were unique.”  
  
Harry shook his head a little. “But she’s not crazy for the same reason I am. She’s thought about why.”  
  
Draco gave him a startled glance.  _Maybe just because I said that I was thinking,_ Harry thought, and caught his hand, and squeezed once, and let go.  
  
All these years, he had held people away because he worried about whether they would be hurt if he died on a case. But he had chosen to make things deeper with Draco, and that meant he had to at least think about what he was doing and why he was doing it.  
  
*  
  
Maybe it was Margit’s story, but when they came up to the feeding dragons—safely hidden behind a Disillusionment Charm and another one that would mask their scent—Draco felt as if he was really seeing beauty for the first time on their journey.  
  
One massive Horntail crouched over something that might once have been a deer, head lowered and tearing at it. She kept swallowing one bite and then tossing another at a pair of smaller dragons next to her. They squabbled over things, flaming each other’s muzzles and then retreating to growl at each other.  
  
But still, they were beautiful. Their scales shone as they were made of black velvet. They sat up on their haunches and flapped their wings so hard that it made it seem as if they were doing it just for the joy of it. Even when they rolled each over and over, beating and scratching their shoulders and tails, Draco thought they were each as strong as the other. It was fun to watch.  
  
The mother dragon seemed to share his opinion. She lay there with her claws steeped in blood, one wing dipping in and out when she wasn’t using her jaws to tear up the prey. Once she issued a warning hiss when the larger hatchling had the smaller one pinned on the ground and was moving a talon towards its eyes. The larger one paused, and the smaller one slipped away with an indignant squeal.  
  
“I thought the hatchlings didn’t often stay with their mother,” Harry whispered.  
  
“Most of them don’t.” Margit shook her head and reached out to cast a spell that would probably—at least Draco hoped so—keep the dragons from hearing them. “But sometimes the smaller ones remain for several months, or even a few years. These ones were small compared to their clutchmates at the time.”  
  
The mother Horntail ripped another gobbet of muscle and tissue away from the carcass, tossed it into the air, and then snapped it in half as it was coming down. Each hatchling snagged a half and then staggered away from each other, still squealing. Then they seemed to think that the other one had the better piece, and started circling each other and snarling. Draco snickered.  
  
Margit smiled at him. “Yes, this is one reason I like to watch them. They’re not human, and I wouldn’t ever make the mistake of thinking they are, but it is fun to think about how jealous and selfish they are. Like children.”  
  
Draco was about to reply, but then he saw the way the dragon mother had turned her head and focused on them. He held his breath and tapped Margit on the shoulder, pointing out the small flames that were beginning to pool around her jaws.  
  
“Yes, I should do something about that,” said Margit, unintimidated, and then canceled the charms that were on her and rose to her feet. “You stay here,” she added over her shoulder. “They’re at their best when they have just one human to focus on.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
Draco nodded in response to Harry’s comment, glad to find they agreed for once, and watched as Margit almost sashayed up to the dragons.  
  
The Horntail lay there, watching her, motionless except for the twitching of her tail. The two hatchlings weren’t so still. They both tumbled behind their mother, and then stuck their heads, as one, over her back to watch Margit. The smaller one acted as if it would flap towards her, but the mother gave a grumble without moving her eyes, and the hatchling sat back.  
  
Margit approached casually, and then sat down on the rocks and cast another spell. Draco didn’t see any result from it until he saw a small rabbit flying towards Margit. Margit killed it with another charm, one that glowed orange.  
  
When she began to rip the fur off, the mother lowered her head and went back to eating. The two hatchlings came out and watched Margit with snapping jaws until their mother tossed them another piece of the deer, at which point they decided that was better than rabbit and swallowed it whole.  
  
“Wow.”  
  
This time, Harry sounded breathless. Draco leaned on him, hoping that Margit wouldn’t actually feel she had to carry the charade through by eating raw rabbit, but also understanding, now, why she might want to.  
  
But she didn’t. She sat with it in her lap and watched the dragons squabbling and eating and playing in front of her.  
  
Draco shifted. He could feel himself still exquisitely aware of how much space there was between him and the dragons. He watched their teeth and could imagine how they would feel crunching into  _his_ bones and muscles. He could imagine screaming if one of them even looked as if it would loom above him the way that Margit had described that mother dragon looming above her house.  
  
But at the same time, he could feel himself becoming more used to being balanced on that edge. He didn’t have to be absolutely safe  _or_ feel like it was going to crumble underneath him. Harry wasn’t in danger right now. Or they weren’t in more danger than Margit. Margit was doing this because she loved the dragons, but also so they could see them.   
  
And when Draco looked back at the dragons, he could see the beauty in things other than the color of their scales or eyes. Their wings and claws moved perfectly. They ate and then rested and played, the mother dragon doing the former with her head curled in the shadow of her wings, the hatchlings tumbling each other over and practicing flight with little short runs.  
  
 _It doesn’t have to be one thing or the other. It can be both._  
  
Draco’s tension slipped away from him as he sat there. He didn’t miss it.


	8. Romanian Longhorn

“Harry!”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and laughed as Charlie’s backslaps nearly knocked him to the ground. “Hey, Charlie,” he said, and stepped back as he nodded to Draco. “Can I introduce Draco Malfoy, my partner?” It was the best word he could come up with to describe Draco at the moment. If nothing else, they were sharing their holiday at the moment.  
  
Charlie nodded to Draco with a distant smile. Harry was glad. Charlie didn’t have any reason to like Draco, but no reason to  _dis_ like him, either. He had gone back to Romania the minute the war in Britain was done, and he’d never been around in Hogwarts at the same time Draco was to be bullied.  
  
“Now,” said Charlie, spinning to face Harry again. “You said that you came here to see dragons. I’ve got two dragons for you.”  
  
“Just two?” Draco muttered.  
  
Harry squeezed him on the arm, hearing and understanding the tone in his voice, but Charlie either didn’t or was just determined to ignore it. “Well, there are plenty of others in the reserve, but these two are special.” He waved his hand out the window, but when Harry looked out, there were only the Carpathian Mountains he and Draco had been seeing plenty of so far. “They’re ready to mate.”  
  
Harry thought he could feel the heat of Draco’s blush from here. He cleared his own throat. “I thought dragons were dangerous when they were doing that?”  
  
“Why would— _oh_. You just came from the Hungarian Horntail reserve.” Charlie waved his hand through the air again. “No, Horntails are pretty dangerous! But not Longhorns, not in the same way. They’ll fight, of course. That’s part of dragon courtship. But they’re not dangerous to anyone except each other. And they’re amazing to watch.”  
  
Harry swallowed back his own smile. Charlie talking about Hungarian Horntails sounded like Ron talking about any Quidditch teams other than the Cannons. “Okay. Where can we watch them from?”  
  
“There’s an observation platform!” Charlie popped to his feet again from his partial slump against the wall. “Come on!”  
  
Harry followed Charlie out, and glanced back once at Draco, who had a grim, pale face. “Are you going to be all right with this?”  
  
“As long as it really  _is_ an observation platform and not down among them,” Draco muttered, shaking his head. “I never heard that Romanian Longhorns are easy to get along with, even if they also aren’t all that dangerous. Are you going to be satisfied with staying back from them?”  
  
Harry thought of the way that Margit had sat when she was watching the Horntails. That was the kind of attitude he would like to have towards dragons, he thought: cautious but respectful. He thought it was probably the attitude Charlie  _did_ have, it was just that he was also excited about them. “I will.”  
  
“Then I will.”  
  
*  
  
Draco clutched the thin railing in front of him, and wished desperately that it was higher. When he had heard Weasley talking about an “observation platform,” he had, perhaps foolishly, pictured something rather like a high balcony off a structure like the Astronomy Tower. He had thought it would be high in the air, safely distant from the place where the dragons clashed.   
  
Instead, it stuck out of the side of a mountain, essentially a ledge with a tiny fence around it. There was nothing to keep a dragon from flying down and trying to pluck them off it. Draco squinted at the sky, but couldn’t make out even the faintest shimmer of defensive magic.  
  
“Harry?” he whispered, but Harry was talking excitedly to Weasley and didn’t hear him. Draco gloomily faced down the ravine again.  
  
At least the  _view_ was magnificent, he had to admit. A deep, narrow valley sprawled in front of him, the sides draped with small trees and huge boulders and tiny, sparkling streams that turned into equally tiny waterfalls as they plunged downwards. There were rich browns, deep greens, shimmering blacks wherever Draco looked.   
  
As he watched, one patch of green stirred and reached lazily upwards. Even after staring blankly for a moment, it took Draco too long to recognize it.  
  
Then he pointed and whispered, “Look!” He would shove Harry later for suggesting that he had  _whimpered_ it.  
  
Harry leaned over the side of the railing and strained his eyes. “I don’t see—”  
  
But the wave of dark green moved again, and revealed itself not as trees bending in the wind, which Draco had first thought it was, but as a wing. And then two gleams of gold appeared right next to it, and a pair of jaws opened, and a long mouth yawned.  
  
Draco found himself staring down a dragon’s throat, but without the sense of terror that he would have felt before, when just being around a dragon was enough to make him bolt. He locked his fingers onto the railing and watched the Longhorn flap from lower ledge to lower ledge.  
  
“Well-spotted, Malfoy!” Weasley pounded him on the back the way he had Harry when they met. Draco dug his fingers into the stone and didn’t fall over the edge, no thanks to Weasley. “There they are!” Then Weasley himself leaned with dizzy danger over the railing and squinted as if he thought there was something else down there.  
  
Draco was just getting ready to snatch at his robe when Weasley whooped and pointed. “There he is!”  
  
“He” was a second dragon climbing rapidly out of the ravine, his wings stiffly spread like the sails of a kite. The other dragon Draco had already seen, who seemed to be the female, dropped her neck and snuffled towards him, then turned her back with a wriggle of her tail Draco could only describe as “saucy.”  
  
The next minute, they were racing into the sky, past the observation platform.  
  
Draco had the impression of a green Hogwarts Express dashing just a meter in front of his face, accompanied by a sparkle of gold horns and a scrape of claws that nearly tore him free to plunge down and down. Not because the dragons were malicious, he thought, locking his hands again, but simply because they were loud, and playful, and didn’t look around that often.  
  
His heart pounding like an out-of-control clock, he turned around with his back to the metal and watched the dragons sport overhead.  
  
“Yes, that’s it,” Weasley muttered, like he was a proud parent urging a child on to perform their first spell.  
  
Draco looked over at Harry, and found that he was smiling—but at Draco, not the dragons. He squeezed his hand and murmured, “Are you all right?”  
  
“Yes,” Draco could say. “Just startled.” And he even turned back to the mating dragons above them with a determination to see this through.  
  
Honestly, though, in a few minutes he forgot himself in the sheer beauty of the dance.  
  
*  
  
Harry watched as the Longhorn Charlie had said was female spread her wings and floated a few body-lengths in front of the male. Her head was turned and her horns glittering like two beams of sunlight along her flank. Her tail stirred and swished the air as though she was conducting an orchestra.  
  
And then she turned over on her back, wings beating more heavily than over, and flicked her tail to the side.  
  
That must have impressed the male somehow. He stuck out his neck and bellowed fire.  
  
Harry ducked as it curled above him, although he knew it didn’t come close to singeing his hair. And it didn’t singe the female, either. She rolled over and over in the midst of the stream of flame—maybe her scales protected her from it—and craned her neck back in enjoyment. Her paws beat like her wings, scrabbling at the air, and she rolled over again and then dropped like a stone towards the bottom of the ravine.  
  
The male fell after her.  
  
Then, whirling around in a dizzying spiral that made Harry think of some of the better Quidditch players he’d known, the female was back from beneath him, although she brushed the male’s side with a wing as she passed. The male turned and gently scraped one of her legs with his teeth. Harry supposed it  _had_ to be gentle, at least. There was no blood or torn scales following the motion of her leg down.  
  
The female dragon tucked her wings in around her body and fell again. The male was spinning around her now, sometimes flying upside-down, in a way Harry hadn’t known dragons could do; it didn’t seem as if he was beating his wings at all. More like there was a huge column of warm air somewhere beneath him helping him rise.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
Draco was leaning against him now, whispering. Harry put an arm around him without taking his eyes from the dragons. Now they were hovering in front of each other with their necks extended and their muzzles lightly brushing. “Yes?”  
  
“This isn’t so bad.”  
  
Harry smiled and kissed the top of Draco’s head. “I know.”  
  
“It’s bloody  _rare_ , is what it is,” said Charlie, leaning forwards so that his arms were draped all the way over the railing. Looking at him, Harry got a sudden flash of what he was certain Charlie would have liked to do most: grow his own wings, leap over the side, and fly just beneath the dragons to observe them dancing.  
  
Maybe he would still stay at a distance. But Harry had the definite impression now that the Dragon-Keepers who thought they should stay at a respectful distance, like Margit, were more uncommon than the risk-taking ones.  
  
The Longhorns were entwining their necks now, their heads cocked so that their horns didn’t tangle. Only when they’d got to the very end of their necks, Harry thought, did they bow so that their horns brushed against each other. Or maybe interlocked. They were high enough that Harry could see what they were doing, but not hear very well.  
  
For endless seconds, the Longhorns swayed back and forth, gleaming green and gold, the small amount of sunlight that fell into the ravine still managing to flash dazzlingly off their horns and wings. Then they abruptly broke apart and began flying side-by-side, more tilted than anything, their bodies parallel to the ground.  
  
“How can they do that?” Draco murmured.  
  
Charlie began some long explanation about average scale density and wing-lift that Harry didn’t bother listening to. He was more than content to lean on the railing himself and watch as the Longhorns swayed back and forth to invisible music, more like one large round creature with four wings than two separate, lithe ones.  
  
They rose higher and higher, until they were against the sun that hung directly over the ravine and Harry had to squint. He saw one—he could no longer tell which one—slant up and hang in the air, and the other one fly towards them, fitting themselves upside-down under the higher one.  
  
“The female’s on top, the male’s below,” Charlie murmured.  
  
In the end, though, Harry didn’t need to know details like that to enjoy the sight of the dragons sweeping back and forth on the wing, or the way they tumbled towards the ground, interlocked, a second later. Draco made a sharp noise when they passed close to the observation platform, the way he had earlier, but Harry wrapped one arm around him, and he swallowed with a grimace.  
  
Harry found himself listening for a crash, but of course, these were dragons and they wouldn’t die from a simple, natural fall. When he looked again, they were both lying together on the floor of the ravine, their scales already blending with the trees again, and licking each other’s muzzles. Then the female (Harry thought) bowed her head and let the male clean her horns free of imaginary grime.  
  
“They’re fascinating to watch,” Charlie said. “I could do this all day.”  
  
And they did stay there for most of the afternoon, watching as the male flew away, came back with a shaggy thing dangling from his claws that Harry thought was a brown bear, and offered it to the female. The female ate delicately, dragging a few pieces of meat through a slit in the belly. Harry supposed they were the choicest parts of the bear. The male mostly munched fur and muscle and stared at her with an expression that Harry supposed you could describe as besotted if you could read dragon faces.  
  
Finally, when the dragons had moved away into the forest, Charlie drew back and turned to look at them. He didn’t seem to notice that he had dents in his skin along the elbows, or that his grin was kind of dreamy. He looked almost the way Hermione used to look at Lockhart, Harry thought, amused.  
  
“Come on. I’ll give you dinner, and tomorrow I’ll take you to meet Norberta.”  
  
*  
  
Dinner, Draco had to admit, was pretty good, including lobster with melted butter that made him want to gobble up thirds. He limited himself to seconds, though, and watched the way that Weasley watched him.  
  
Draco had wondered if this one of Harry’s friends, who hadn’t been in Britain in years and didn’t know how happy Draco made Harry, would object to their relationship. But it didn’t seem to be so.  
  
And they weren’t talking about ordinary things, anyway, Draco realized slowly. At least, not the ordinary things he had thought they would talk about. Harry didn’t mention any Auror cases. He talked about funny things that had happened with his other friends, and why he had wanted to come see dragons, and even things he and Draco had done together. Weasley laughed as uproariously at the things not about his family as at the things about them.  
  
And if he did give Draco a sneaking, glinting glance now and then, Draco didn’t think it was hostile.  
  
But then Harry excused himself to go to the bathroom, which was an adventure to find in the little, twisty maze of different caves where Weasley lived, and Weasley turned and leaned towards Draco. Draco looked at him. Weasley nodded once and asked, “You’re not just with him for the fame and money, are you?”  
  
Draco had to laugh. “Does it  _look_ as if I am?”  
  
“Well, no. But Harry’s told me about a few times when he got taken in and fooled for a while.”  
  
“He won’t with me. I want—what he wants. While he wanted to keep me at a distance because he was worried about what would happen if someone else found out about his cases, I went along with that. Now I’m going along with his desire to get to know me and take less risks.”  
  
Weasley sipped moodily at the heavy mead that he’d had imported from somewhere else. Or maybe he hadn’t. Draco had to admit that he knew little about Romanian drinks, and less when he had tried a sip and didn’t like it. “Harry told you all that?”  
  
“Yes.” Draco wasn’t going to demean himself by asking what part Weasley meant, specifically.  
  
“What kind of cases was he working that he didn’t want you to know about?”  
  
“Cases where he almost died.” Draco grimaced. He supposed some of those situations were probably even worse than the ones Harry had involved himself in on this holiday, but that just made them nightmarish for Draco to think about. “He told me that it’s been enough times he’s lost count. But he’s also promised to try and hold himself back from just charging in. He did that a few times with dragons, and I told him I didn’t like it.”  
  
“He should have been a Dragon-Keeper. The way he looks at them…”  
  
Draco kept diplomatically silent. As far as he could tell, for everyone they’d met, becoming a Dragon-Keeper involved loving dragons more than anything else. And he thought Harry, no matter how much he liked risk and magical creatures, loved some other things more.  
  
 _Like me._  
  
Harry came back from the bathroom then, and stood in the arched entrance of the dining cavern looking back and forth between them. “What were you saying about me, Charlie?”  
  
“I asked Malfoy a few questions, that’s all.” Weasley faced Harry and winked at him. “And he gave me good answers, too. Now, what’s this you told me about Mum deciding she wants to adopt a child?”  
  
Draco was glad enough to sink into the background as Harry and Weasley went off into some discussion of family politics that Draco couldn’t follow, since he only knew half the names. He was just glad that Weasley had apparently judged him and not found him wanting.  
  
*  
  
“Careful,” Charlie warned as Harry slipped a little on the rocks that tumbled under his feet. “Female Ridgebacks are sometimes more dangerous even when they don’t have a clutch of eggs or a kill to defend.”  
  
Harry only nodded, thinking about the Ridgeback they’d seen eating the seal in Norway. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t known whether that one was male or female, not for certain.  
  
The dragon that sprawled in the small valley ahead of them, bathing in the waterfall that cascaded down the cliff and tumbling on her back to let the water run down onto her belly, looked nothing like the small dragon Harry had helped take up to the Astronomy tower. She just looked like a dragon. Harry felt a small stab of disappointment. He would have liked to think that something of Hagrid’s “baby” survived in her.  
  
But then Norberta looked up and saw them, at the same moment as Charlie whistled. Harry looked at him and saw him tossing a bucket down the cliff. The smell from the bucket  _was_ nauseatingly familiar. It was the brandy-and-chicken-blood mixture that Hagrid had given Norberta when she was a hatchling.  
  
The dragon stuck a claw out and delicately hooked the bucket from midair, before any of the liquid inside could spill. Then she tilted it down into her throat. Harry thought she would crunch the bucket with her gigantic teeth as well, but instead she chirped and hummed, balanced the bucket on the edge of her jaw for a second, and ended up tossing it back to Charlie, who caught it from the air and grinned.  
  
“Are the tame ones always tamer around humans?” Draco asked. Harry looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and grinned. He thought Draco looked as though his worldview had been recently adjusted. Well, maybe hearing the booming equivalent of tiny baby chirps from an adult dragon would do that.  
  
“I wouldn’t call any dragon  _tame_ ,” said Charlie, catching the bucket and putting it behind him. “But the ones who were around humans as babies do tend to lose most of their fear of them, yes. Not always for good reasons, of course,” he added, and then winced as Norberta abruptly pushed herself to her feet and padded over towards them.  
  
 _See?_ Harry wanted to say to Draco, as Norberta’s jaws loomed over them and she bent down to sniff.  _Now we’re close to the mouth of a fire-breathing dragon and I didn’t even do anything this time!_  
  
But he wouldn’t say that, because it would make him an arsehole. Instead, he reached up and brushed his hand carefully along the side of the dragon’s head. Norberta only turned her head to regard him with one eye, and then turned and nudged the bucket sitting behind Charlie emphatically, arching her whole neck over him to do it.  
  
“She wants more,” Charlie chuckled. “I’ll go and get more.” He nodded to Harry and Draco. “Walk backwards, slowly. Don’t run. She can probably smell your fear, but at the moment, she’s more interested in getting something to eat.”  
  
“Which probably means  _us_ ,” Draco moaned just at the edge of Harry’s hearing.  
  
But he managed to back up—they both did—and ended up near Charlie’s house again. Charlie nodded to them and ducked inside to get more blood and brandy. Harry just stood there looking up at Norberta.  
  
Norberta waited, ignoring them now. Her whole gaze was focused on the cave entrance where Charlie had disappeared.  
  
 _She’s still beautiful,_ Harry thought, and reached over and held Draco’s hand.  _That much hasn’t changed, even if a lot of other things have._  
  
And when Charlie came out and gave Norberta her treat while he scratched gently behind her eye-ridges, Harry had to smile. No, Dragon-Keeping wouldn’t ever be the life for him, but he could see why it attracted other people.  
  
He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye. Draco was watching him instead of the dragon.  
  
Harry thought he could understand that silent message:  _Are you sorry you chose me?_  
  
And he had to shake his head, because while Dragon-Keeping was attractive and so was risk, Draco was more so.  
  
Draco seemed to let out a breath he might have been holding since Norway, and smiled.


	9. Ukrainian Ironbelly

  
“This way,” said Vira, their guide, striding out along a path that she seemed to be making up as she went along.  
  
Still, Harry followed her, raising his eyebrows warningly at Draco when he would have complained. Vira had met them at the fireplace they’d Flooed into, which seemed to be part of a small, cold station where Harry would have expected to see more people. She’d told them her first name but not her last, nodded without expression as Harry recast the Translation Charm, and then hurried them out of the station.  
  
Harry had tried to ask whether there was a place they could rest, but Vira had said, “If you want to see dragons, you must come with me.”  
  
Harry had sighed and cast Refreshing and Relaxation Charms over both himself and Draco. Their trunks were shrunken in their pockets, so it wasn’t like they had a lot of luggage to carry. It was just that traveling by Floo was exhausting, and he and Draco had been looking forwards to a bed and a fire.  
  
Vira led them up two slopes and down one more. Now they were moving along through the depths of a shaggy pine forest. Harry eyed Vira’s back cautiously. She was brown-haired, slim, maybe nineteen years old at most, and…  
  
She looked grim and desperate, actually.  
  
Harry dropped back a little to make sure Draco was okay. He’d stumbled as they came out of the Floo, and Harry thought he’d twisted his ankle. But Draco only shook his head with a chiding expression when Harry asked, so Harry settled on something else to ask. “Does she seem strange to you?”  
  
“She’s a Dragon-Keeper. Of course she is.”  
  
Harry smiled, but he had to persist. “I mean, she looks as though she’s—I don’t know, getting ready to run.”  
  
“How would you know?” But Draco answered before Harry could. “Right, the being an Auror part. Does she look like a criminal to you?”  
  
“That’s just it.” Harry watched as Vira paused ahead of them to scan the sky, then apparently noticed they’d fallen behind. She motioned at them jerkily and kept moving. Harry hurried up, because she’d be out of sight in a second. “She doesn’t. Just—I don’t know, as if something’s threatened her.”  
  
“Well, in most cases I would say a dragon is threatening enough. But…”  
  
Harry nodded. “Yes, I know. Not with Dragon-Keepers.”  
  
“You know me so well.”  
  
“Someone has to.”  
  
From the little jerk of Draco’s head, Harry thought he would question that statement, but then Vira lifted her hand ahead of them, and they stopped. Harry craned his neck and tried to see beyond her. He couldn’t. This forest was even thicker and darker than the one Margit had led them through to see the Hungarian Horntails.  
  
“You need to be still,” Vira whispered. “The Ironbellies are the biggest dragons. You know that? They are extremely dangerous and like to attack when something moves in front of them. You know that?”  
  
“Yes,” said Harry, and heard Draco mutter the same thing in a dry voice behind him. Vira tilted her head in answer, eyes rising above him. Above the trees. Harry looked up. For all he knew, above the clouds.  
  
And then he saw—he hadn’t seen it before because his eyes had been looking for a smaller shape—that there was a dragon above them.  
  
Draco had already frozen. Harry had to believe that, because he couldn’t reach back and touch him, not with the chance of attracting the Ironbelly’s attention. It soared in lazy swoops over the forest, something he hadn’t realized a dragon could do. Its neck stretched down. Harry caught a glimpse of the burning ember eyes before it turned its head and flew on.  
  
Vira waited until it had vanished behind a cloud. Then she turned to Harry. She was trembling. “You need to be still,” she whispered. “You need to be quiet. Can you do that for me, no matter what you see?”  
  
“I have no idea what’s going  _on_ ,” Harry hissed back.  
  
“I know.” Vira gave him a fragile smile. “That’s why you’re so valuable to me.” She reached up and took out the tie that Harry hadn’t realized was confining her brown hair. It tumbled down the middle of her back when the tie was gone. “No matter what happens, I won’t need  _this_ any longer,” she said, and moved smoothly forwards, one foot and then another.  
  
Harry followed her gaze upwards again. There was nothing in the sky now. He thought. He wondered how hard it was to see Ironbellies unless you looked for them. It shouldn’t be that  _easy_ to miss a bloody huge dragon.  
  
“Dragon-Keeper Melnyk.”  
  
Harry leaped hard enough that he was honestly surprised his heart was still beating when he came down. The call came from behind them, and sounded as though it had been enhanced by a spell. He saw Draco turn his head—he was in a better position to see than Harry—and a second later he held up a hand with all five fingers extended.  
  
 _Five people._ Harry turned around and stared at Vira again. She hadn’t paid any attention to the call, which Harry assumed was of her surname. She still stood looking up at the sky, her lips a little parted.  
  
“You are to come out at once. Raise your hands and lay your wand on the ground in front of you.”  
  
“Wonderful,” Draco said, his head dropping into his hands.  
  
“Who are they?” Harry asked Vira without moving. “Aurors?” He didn’t know exactly what the word was in Ukrainian, but it didn’t matter. He knew the Translation Charm would take care of that.  
  
“Oh, no. Fellow Dragon-Keepers.” Vira was frowning, but not the kind of frown Harry thought she would have if she was frightened. She moved a few steps further, towards a huge pine tree, and drew her wand. Harry tensed, but all she did was cast some kind of charm that made the pine resound like a drum.  
  
“What did you  _do_?”   
  
Harry thought it was Draco who’d asked that, but he didn’t know. He honestly found it hard to hear in the echoes springing from the pine-tree, and Vira moved her head a little without answering at first.  
  
Then she smiled at the sky. “Why do you assume it is something  _I_ have done?” she asked, amid the dying echoes.  
  
Harry supposed he ought to say something, but he didn’t get the chance before the other Dragon-Keepers down the path started casting curses into the wood, and before the Ironbelly dived past the trees.  
  
It was impossibly large, impossibly metallic. Harry rolled under one claw and held his hand out to Draco, who raced towards him and ducked under another one. Then the dragon was down, and it had smashed trees underneath it, and its tail waved above them, and its eyes blazed and then looked like iron, as its grey eyelids covered them up. It whipped its neck down and touched Vira with the underside of its jaw.  
  
Vira leaned against it and murmured a spell.  
  
Harry had no idea what the spell was; he couldn’t hear it anyway under all the cries and the creaking of trees and the sounds of the dragon’s breathing. He was busy making his way over to stand in front of Draco, ready to cast shield spells that would hold off the fire when it came hunting them. He didn’t know why it seemed so hard. Only when he crouched in front of Draco did he realize that the dragon’s wings were still beating. There was so much wind that he could hardly keep his balance.  
  
A spell soared over him and splashed against the Ironbelly’s scales without affecting it. The dragon lifted its head and roared.  
  
So did something else, a second later.  
  
Harry stared. He felt Draco grab his shoulder. The other Dragon-Keepers stopped firing spells from behind them.  
  
There was something shadowy and twisting where Vira had been, and her robes were falling to the ground. Harry wondered for a second if she’d decided to commit suicide. Or the dragon had breathed fire on her, shadow-fire, a mixture of dark and light that didn’t make sense—  
  
But no. What rose from Vira’s dropped robe was another dragon, an Ironbelly growing its, or her, tail and wings as Harry watched. Her neck spiraled up and up, and her eyes opened, blazing red. The eyes got further and further away as Harry watched, as Vira grew and transformed.  
  
Harry couldn’t turn away. Neither dragon looked at him or Draco. They faced each other, and Vira’s jaws gaped as she hissed something. Meaning brushed against Harry’s ears for a second, making him wonder if he could understand the words dragons spoke after all because he was a Parselmouth.  
  
But he didn’t grasp what was happening until the dragons launched themselves upwards. Then he grabbed Draco and sheltered him in the folds of his cloak, because Vira and the other Ironbelly broke the branches with their wingbeats, and then they both fell over and tumbled a short distance. Sand and rocks blew around them and cracked against Harry’s shields.  
  
Then they were gone, vaulting overhead. Harry dropped the shields so he could watch the dragons fly. They vanished behind the clouds, and Harry shook his head. He didn’t think they were coming back.  
  
“Did you know you were helping her escape?”  
  
“I don’t understand anything of what’s going on,” Harry said. It took him long seconds to turn from the sky to the Dragon-Keepers who were on the trail behind him. Draco, at least, had risen to his feet and assumed a calculating look, and Harry was sure he would be just as able to confront these people as he had Ask. “If you could explain things to me, that would be great.”  
  
“To us,” Draco added, and his voice had a subtle vibration of power. Harry looked at him and smiled.  
  
*  
  
As far as Draco was concerned, the Dragon-Keepers had done little to nothing to make up for the indignities he and Harry had suffered so far. They’d taken them back to the Floo station and set up small tables with tiny sandwiches and cups of tea on them. Draco had sat down in his chair and gazed remotely off into the distance until they’d relented and allowed both him and Harry to use the loo. Then he’d nodded and stared at the plates until someone sighed and got out more food.  
  
Then the Dragon-Keepers had asked about Vira and escapes and so on in a way that erased all of Draco’s previous good will. He went back to staring into the distance again.  
  
Harry kept trying to answer, but his answers only frustrated everyone, since he knew nothing and the Dragon-Keepers took his fumbles and pauses as evidence of some master plan to conceal secrets. Draco finally reached out and squeezed his hand underneath the table. Harry stopped.  
  
Draco then said, “Suppose you tell us what crime Vira committed.”  
  
“You should call her Dragon-Keeper Melnyk,” the leader said. He hadn’t bothered to introduce himself. He was a huge, barrel-like man with a permanent frown who reminded Draco of Walden Macnair.   
  
But such memories no longer had the power to intimidate him. Draco said, “What crime did she commit?”  
  
“How did you help her?”  
  
“We can’t answer that because we have no idea what was happening. Tell us what crime she committed.”  
  
“We can keep you here if you don’t answer.”  
  
“You can try,” Draco said, and there was a deliberate cruelty, and darkness, in his voice that he knew surprised Harry, who turned his head. Draco ignored that. He smiled at the Dragon-Keeper. “Do you have any idea what kind of power Harry has at home? And what kinds of protests you would get from Britain for keeping him hostage here?”  
  
“Then maybe no one will miss  _you_.”  
  
Harry stood up. Draco didn’t have to see the wand in his hand to know where it was aiming. He watched the Dragon-Keeper’s face convulse a little, and added helpfully, “No one should miss someone who’s stupid enough to threaten me in front of Harry.”  
  
“You would—you would not kill me.”  
  
“Are you going to tell us the truth about Vira, and let us leave?”  
  
Draco smiled. It was never the reason he had fallen in love with Harry, of course, but he had to admit it was extremely satisfying to hear the power in Harry’s voice and know it was being wielded in defense of him.  
  
The Dragon-Keeper turned and exchanged a glance with the others behind him. Finally, a woman with white hair in a short cut shoved herself forwards. The others fell back, and the woman raised her wand. Harry tensed, but all she did was Summon a series of larger plates with some ham and mutton on them, and some larger cups. Draco sipped from his, and nodded. It was hot chocolate.  
  
“Now,” said the woman. “My name is Oksana. I am—kin to Vira on her mother’s side.” She traced her fingers in a circle on the table for a moment. “And Vira committed species flight. We knew she was getting ready to, but we didn’t get there in time to stop it. We thought she’d enlisted you in it, since you were strangers and you might not know it was a crime.”  
  
“I don’t know what that means.”  
  
For the moment, Harry was handling this. Draco could study Oksana and look for other threats that would be harder for Harry to spot, like lies. He didn’t think she’d lied so far.  
  
“She wanted to stop being human. It is—a sickness that some humans have. They want to stop being human. They want to change into dragons, or change into an Animagus form and vanish into the world of animals. At the very least, they want to marry Veela or goblins or some other species that can mate with us, and have children who are less than human.”  
  
Harry’s face settled into studied neutrality. Draco waited, but he said only, “Why is this such a big crime here? It wouldn’t be in Britain.”  
  
 _But we would still want to keep people from doing it,_ Draco thought. Of course, bringing that up now would probably only confuse the issue as far as Oksana and her people were concerned.  
  
“Because,” Oksana said, her voice bursting with something before she brought it under control in the next second, “we are losing so many wizards. Our Muggleborns almost always go back into the Muggle world, and we don’t have many of them anyway. Our most powerful wizards don’t have many children, because they prefer research and studying to marriage. Everyone needs to stay here and have children. Vira was young. She had all her choices of marriages in the world. She could have had  _many_ children. And instead, she chose to be a dragon.”  
  
Draco watched Oksana, the way she looked at the table. He touched Harry’s hand when Harry would have said something else. He thought this was something he could understand better than Harry could.  
  
 _All those lines crossing on our tapestry. All the pure-blood families who only had one child, or who disowned their Squib children._  
  
“Why did you let her be a Dragon-Keeper?” Draco asked. “If you knew she was already planning to do it? Why expose her to that temptation?”  
  
Oksana jerked a little and stared at him. “Are you a mind-reader?”  
  
“Yes. But not this time.”  
  
Harry shifted uneasily. Draco thought it was because of the way he and Oksana were staring at each other. Well, Draco couldn’t help him with that. Harry would have to wait on the outside, the way Draco had waited for him when he was chasing that damn dragon in Sweden.  
  
Oksana finally whispered, “I was the same as she was. When I was young. I thought of having wings and soaring above the earth. But I overcame the temptation. I thought letting her work with dragons for a little while would show her what she could have as a human.” She drew in a deep, painful breath.  
  
“And instead, she managed to go where we weren’t watching her and use your arrival to cover her escape.”  
  
“She would have found some way. This was just the one she happened to take.”  
  
Oksana looked at him with motionless eyes for a long moment. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? To lessen what she did?”  
  
“No,” said Draco. Harry had thought Vira looked like someone had threatened her. Draco had formed his own impression of her. “Just that—if someone wants something that badly, it’s useless. You could have watched her for years, and that would only have made her want it more. She would have got it sooner or later.”  
  
“I  _do_ believe that you know what you’re talking about. Why?”  
  
Draco shrugged. He wouldn’t have told everyone this, but he didn’t believe Oksana would spread it around. “My father followed a powerful Dark Lord. My mother was willing to support him in that, but not when the Dark Lord set me up for a task I would fail so that he could kill me. She did impossible things to keep me safe. Things that meant someone else had to die.  _Multiple_ people had to die,” Draco added, thinking of the part that the Unbreakable Vow had ended up playing in Professor Snape’s death. “And she lied to the Dark Lord at the last. Even though that could have meant her death, too. Because she wanted me safe more than she wanted anything else. And he couldn’t keep his eyes on her at all times. And it worked.”  
  
Oksana was utterly silent for a moment. Then she said, “That doesn’t solve the problem.”  
  
“No.” Harry spoke this time, leaning forwards. “But it might make you feel better about Vira, specifically.”  
  
Oksana sat, visibly thinking. Then she inclined her head and stood. “You will be let go tomorrow, then, as soon as we make sure that Vira isn’t going to fly back and try to meet with you for some reason. I’ll send someone to take you to a secure house later.” And she turned and strode out of the station. Draco waited, then shrugged and turned to Harry.  
  
“Think they’ll keep their word?”  
  
“You’re the Legilimens. You’re the one who’s supposed to be able to tell when people are lying.”  
  
“Yes, I think so.” Draco leaned back and looked out the window again, over a fall of forest and up to the mountains. That hadn’t been enough for Vira, walking through those forests and climbing those mountains. She had wanted to soar above them.   
  
She had her wish.  
  
And there was someone else Vira didn’t look like, besides a criminal, Draco thought, as Harry leaned against him. She didn’t look like Harry. Draco had feared Harry leaping into the rush of his own risk-taking and leaving him behind, because the risks mattered more to him than Draco did.  
  
But now he knew what someone looked like who was sick for their heart’s desire and willing to risk everything to leave everything else behind. It wasn’t the way Harry’s eyes lingered on him, or his arm around Draco’s waist.  
  
For a moment, Draco thought he might have seen the shapes of iron-grey dragons twisting above the mountains in the distance. But when he blinked again, they were gone.


	10. Chinese Fireball

“Keep still. You will see dragons.”  
  
Draco cast an exasperated glance at Harry. But Harry seemed perfectly content to sit still and look vaguely around the green glade covered with mosses and rocks and, on the other side, a small waterfall.   
  
Draco fidgeted. He would have expected Harry to resent Li Jun’s advice more. He was the restless one, who always wanted to dash off somewhere without considering what kind of beast’s mouth he was entering. Instead, it was Draco who had to struggle to contain his boredom and desire to stand up.  
  
“ _Keep still_.”  
  
Draco gave Li a sulky glance and focused on the waterfall again. Li—who had told them that he might let them call him by his first name if they impressed him that day—was already sitting calmly on a conjured carpet, his eyes fixed on the tumbling water. That was the thing that was supposed to help them meditate.  
  
 _That doesn’t even make any sense. The water is moving itself! How can it make us want to stay silent?_  
  
Although Draco supposed if Harry could do it, so could he. He wouldn’t let anyone say he was less patient and serene than Harry. He stretched his legs out in a comfortable position, without trying to mimic the kneeling one that Li had, and stared at the waterfall.  
  
There were green rocks behind it, like some of the veins in the marble of Malfoy Manor, like the emeralds Draco used for eyes in some of his mechanical beasts, like the moss. Draco sighed a little. Was that what they had come to see? He hadn’t been enthusiastic about Harry’s idea of hiring the Dragon-Keeper who could get them the closest to Chinese Fireballs, but he would almost prefer a dragon to ease his boredom.  
  
“There.”  
  
Li’s voice made Draco jump. Then he saw the long, snaky neck extending through the stream.  
  
Draco hadn’t thought there was a deep cave behind the cascade. Why would he? The water looked absolutely transparent and shimmering, and he had thought he was seeing nothing but a shallow cove of stone behind it.   
  
Apparently looks could be deceiving, or else he would have to get used to looking for dragons in unexpected places, because not only one Chinese Fireball scrambled through the water and shook droplets of it off, but two. Draco remembered that he had read Fireballs were more tolerant of their own kind than some other dragons—although given what other dragons were like, that wasn’t saying much.  
  
Still, to be this close…  
  
The larger Fireball was shining as if dipped in fresh blood, and the smaller one had a golden crown of spikes that stood up around its scales and dimmed them in comparison. Harry leaned slowly towards Draco, and Draco leaned back towards him without taking his eyes from the dragons.  
  
“Gryffindor,” Harry whispered.  
  
It took Draco a second to see what he meant. Then he wanted to laugh. Yes, the red and gold were Gryffindor colors.  
  
But these were still dragons, not filled with chivalry and reckless daring. Draco tried to calm his breathing as the larger one’s head pivoted slowly to face him.  
  
“I did tell you to keep still,” said Li, in what sounded like a soft, mournful voice. Then he stood up and walked out from between the moss-covered rocks to confront the dragons.  
  
Draco had no trouble in keeping still  _now_. He wondered for a wild second whether someone could charge them with murdering a Dragon-Keeper if they didn’t do what he said when they were in front of dragons.  
  
But the Fireballs didn’t immediately charge at Li. They just stared at him as if they couldn’t believe that a puny little human would dare approach them. The smaller one even sat down and fanned a wing in front of its eyes, like it was whipping smoke out of them. Draco would have chuckled if his tongue wasn’t frozen.  
  
Li came to a stop in front of the dragons and inclined his head, in a bow much smaller than the one Draco remembered the half-giant teaching them to use to hippogriffs. That seemed wrong, again. Did Dragon-Keepers forget what they were dealing with? If they were going to show respect to any magical animal, dragons should be it, surely?  
  
But a second later, Li reached down and seemed to root among the stones. He pulled out something scrubby and grey, something small that might be alive, although Draco didn’t think it was. Li held it out.  
  
The larger Fireball strode up to him. Draco watched its head swaying above Li and this time, had to swallow. He would shout if he didn’t, and he was wondering how much flame a Fireball could really breathe. Would it be big enough to engulf him and Harry if they tried to run?  
  
Of all the things that Draco would curse himself for not remembering, he had never thought one of them would be the dragon Krum had fought at the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He was trying to recall whether it had breathed a far-reaching fire and what distance it could singe the grass and spectators from itself.  
  
 _Of course, there were spells up to protect the spectators at the Tri-Wizard Tournament…_  
  
Then the larger Fireball opened up its jaws and closed them on the grey thing that dangled from Li’s hand, and his arm itself.  
  
“Poor bastard,” Harry whispered, and stood up beside Draco, drawing his wand. Draco also rose to his feet, swaying, although he wondered if it was the best thing. It would be terrible if Li was eaten, but there was no reason for  _them_ to join him in a dragon’s belly if it could be avoided.  
  
Li just stood there, staring the Fireball in the eye. Draco wondered if he was in shock form blood loss.  
  
Then the Fireball abruptly parted its jaws and pulled its head back. Draco saw the dent of teeth in Li’s skin and a little blood, but he still had the limb and his hand. He even had all his fingers!  
  
But the grey thing he had clutched was gone.  
  
Then the dragons turned and splashed back into the waterfall. Once again, Draco had to squint to see where they had gone, and he didn’t understand how they could possibly fit into the tiny space behind the water. But Li stood there gazing after them, and didn’t act like he was waving his wand to help them.  
  
When he turned around again, he looked at both Harry and Draco and sighed, shaking his head.  
  
“You should come with me so I can explain to you.”  
  
*  
  
Harry glanced around curiously. He had thought, when they Apparated, that Li was taking them outside the Fireball reserve. But if Li’s home  _was_ outside the boundaries, it seemed he had taken care to make it look as much as possible like one inside them instead.   
  
It was modeled after a cave, constructed of stones in a round shape like half a tunnel, and backing up on a large hill. Woven straw mats covered some of the floor, but most of it, Harry thought, was simply carefully-shaped dirt. The tunnel shape widened in the middle, accommodating a small pool, a complicated construct that Harry supposed Li probably used as a toilet, a wooden table, a cabinet of red wood carved with coiling dragons, and a few chairs.  
  
Li, though, didn’t invite them to use the chairs. He showed them to the mats instead and opened the cabinet to get out a small tray. Harry thought, from the ginger way Li handled it, that it was either extremely heavy or extremely valuable. Maybe both, if it was really made of the jade that it looked like.  
  
“What was the grey thing you fed them?” Draco demanded.  
  
Harry gave him a chiding glance, even before Li held up one hand and gave Draco a little glare. Draco was being ruder and more impetuous than he had in any of the other dragon reserves. Harry had wondered at first if it was some problem with the Translation Charm. They’d needed to cast it several times as they worked their way through the wizarding communities across Europe and then China. Even within China itself, there were several different languages in different places.  
  
But no, Draco just seemed to expect a certain thing out of Dragon-Keepers, and was upset when he didn’t get it.  
  
“Peace. In time.”  
  
Li took a few shallow bowls off the tray and spent some time adding various herbs and spices to the bowls and setting them on fire. Harry had never seen some of them, and thought they must be versions of incense. At least breathing them in was calming, and seemed to clear his head instead of making it spin. He saw Draco sit back as if he was also accepting that Li didn’t really owe them answers.   
  
Harry would  _like_ answers, especially what the thing was that Li had fed to the bigger dragon. But he could go without them.  
  
Li conjured water with a murmured spell and added it to the final bowl of herbs, staring down critically into them as he steeped them. Harry found the smells soothing—or maybe that was the combined effect of that particular smell and the other things that Li had already set burning. At least Li nodded and pulled a few cups out of the cabinet, then poured the brew into them and handed them smooth wooden spoons.  
  
“More like a stew,” he added, when Draco tried to sip the mixture as if it was tea.  
  
Draco nodded and started eating the floating leaves and small clumps of herbs. Harry tried them more cautiously. They looked like some of the things Aunt Petunia had tried to feed Dudley when he was on his diet.  
  
But they  _tasted_ nothing like that, Harry realized in relief a second later. He sipped the water when he had to, scooped up more bits of leaf with his spoon when he could, and chased the smallest pieces to the corners of the cup. It was delicious, thick like some meaty stews Harry had tasted, but sweeter and with a sharp vegetable taste that he licked his lips over.  
  
Li ate his own cup and finished before them, watching them with the same critical eye he’d used on his herbs when they were steeping. Then he nodded as Harry and Draco both set their cups aside.  
  
“You want to know how I managed to calm the dragon.”  
  
Draco glanced at the place on Li’s upper arm where the dragon’s teeth had broken the skin, and Harry could guess what he was thinking. But he saw no reason in antagonizing Li, so he nodded. “Yes. Or at least why it only ate that thing you had with you instead of taking your whole arm.”  
  
“You must remember it is impossible to tame dragons.”  
  
Harry nodded again. Even Firewing, who seemed to play with Allison, could turn on the people around him in anger at a moment’s notice.  
  
“But one can show respect for them.” Li turned and leaned off his mat, rummaging through what Harry had thought was simply a pile of stones in the corner. At last he found what he wanted and pulled it out, turning around to face them. “Here. This is what I had placed in the clearing to attract dragons, and calm them if necessary.”  
  
Harry leaned over to look at it. It was a little less grey than the thing Li had offered the dragon, but only barely. And it still resembled a twisted rope with some hanks hanging off to the side as though someone had partially untwisted it.  
  
“What  _is_ it?”  
  
Li didn’t seem upset about the loud way Draco asked the question. He only smiled. “The Fireballs are the kindest of the dragons. They tolerate adults in their territory, not only hatchlings. Nor do they drive their children away the moment they attain adult size, the way that so many other species do. This—” he waved the rope a little “—is a woven piece of magic that calls upon that kindly nature and amplifies it.”  
  
“I’ve never heard of waving magic,” Harry said.  
  
Li gave him another smile. “And that means it cannot exist, of course.”  
  
“No,” said Harry. “I only…How do you  _weave_ it?”  
  
Li reached out and pulled an empty bowl in front of him. “Watch this,” he said, and conjured water from his wand with a flick of his wrist. It poured down in front of him in a steady stream, and then Li reached out and slid the fingers of his other hand into the water.   
  
He twisted them back and forth. Harry leaned forwards, mesmerized. He could see Li spinning the water around his fingers. He just didn’t know  _how_ it was done.  
  
But the closer he got, the more he could feel. There was a subtle vibration around Li’s fingers, as though he was extending magic to touch the water even as he poured it. His face was set in a small frown of concentration that relaxed into a smile as Harry watched, and he whipped his wand up and around. Harry had to duck as the water passed overhead.  
  
Except, when Li shook his hand out, it wasn’t water anymore. It was a shimmering blue ribbon that had twisted pieces hanging off to the side exactly as if someone had started to unwind it.  
  
“Not my most graceful effort.” Li turned his head to the side as if he wanted to consider the exact placement of the hanging strands of the ribbon; his long black hair, braided securely behind him, swayed with the motion. Harry wondered if he braided it with the same kind of magic that he’d just showed them. “But you see how it begins.”  
  
“What kind of spell were you weaving the rope into?”  
  
“That is also conjured material,” said Li, turning to face Draco a little. “Moss and small stones. But it works better for calming dragons than a rope made of water. Water is patient but also ever-changing. The moss and the earth are steadier.”  
  
“I see how woven magic can exist now,” Harry said. “But how can it calm dragons down?”  
  
He was mostly thinking that this was the sort of innovation all Dragon-Keepers would want, if they knew about it. Then again, there was no saying that plenty of them didn’t. It just wasn’t knowledge that people like Charlie had chosen to share with Harry.  
  
“Because dragons are creatures of the elements,” said Li, as if it was obvious. “They rejoice in the water, they walk on the earth, they soar in the air, and they breathe fire. Elemental magic has a minor place in  _British_ wizarding studies, I know. Yet how can you possibly have forgotten this?”  
  
“I don’t think we ever knew it,” said Draco. Harry let him speak, since he was the one more conversant with magical theory. Draco leaned forwards to study both ropes that Li held, shaking his head. “No, I know I haven’t encountered references to this. The elemental magic I’m familiar with is for minor charms, or to help with potions. How to have an extra bowl of water that will bestow the blessing of water on the potion you’re brewing, for instance,” he added, either because Harry was staring at him or Li was.  
  
“Now that is a blessing I have never heard of,” said Li. “How can water bless your potion?”  
  
“I don’t really know,” Draco admitted. “I think what’s died out has mostly been the theory that used to justify the elemental practice. That would be one reason it’s not used much anymore.” He reached out a hand, then hesitated and looked at Li for permission.  
  
Li nodded, and Draco smoothed his fingers over the rope of water, murmuring in pleasure. Harry reached out right behind him, and sighed. Yes, it felt nice, as though he was touching silk that someone had wet down just a little. He could imagine draping that rope over his eyes when he had a headache.  
  
“Why did you want to calm the dragons down?” Draco asked then. “Simply to get close to them?”  
  
“Yes. That is its own pleasure.”  
  
Harry nodded. He could believe that. Even the way the bigger dragon had bitten Li’s arm could be a kind of pleasure, at least if you played your cards right and emerged from the dragon’s mouth still  _having_ an arm.  
  
“And you paid me for the privilege of leading you close to them,” Li added then, a faint smile on his face as he looked from Draco to Harry. “I did not want to disappoint you.”  
  
“I thought thirty meters would be a good distance,” Harry admitted. “And then we could use Omnioculars to see any details that we might miss.”  
  
Li chuckled. “You have had enough experiences with dragons close up that you do not wish to repeat, perhaps?”  
  
Harry nodded fervently, and heard Draco laugh as he leaned on his shoulder. Then Draco said, “Well. I thought we would get to see some beautiful dragons when we came here, but nothing else. I suppose I underestimated the possibilities of Dragon-Keeping wizardry.” He turned to Li again. “Would you mind if I asked you more questions about elemental theory? I’m happy to pay you, although I don’t know what kind of price you would consider fair.”  
  
Li studied them. Then he said, “We will exchange knowledge. You will explain how elemental theory works within your own magic and the way other British wizards think of it. I will tell you what you want to know.”  
  
Draco nodded. “That sounds more than fair.”  
  
Harry settled back, contented. It was good to know that Draco would get something of this, something perhaps equal to the glimpses of wildness and the adrenaline rushes that Harry had received so far.  
  
*  
  
Draco gratefully sipped from the cup of water Li had handed him. He’d been talking for long enough that he felt as if he was on the verge of getting a cold.  
  
“You do understand why someone might want to do this,” Li said, and then he turned abruptly and stared off to the side. Draco looked with him. He was surprised to see Harry had his head leaning on the wall of the cave, asleep. Draco had been sure he would be awake and listening intently, fascinated by the ways Li had told Draco about getting closer to dragons.  
  
Then Draco snorted. If Harry was that fascinated, he would have asked questions before now. A quiet Harry Potter was an unnatural Harry Potter.  
  
“I do,” Draco said, rather than reply to the thoughts racing through his head. He lowered the cup of water. “I think that Harry has some of the same fascination.”  
  
Li looked at Harry again.  
  
“Not the theory, though,” Draco said. “The living dragons. He rushed up to a few dragons during our journey already, but he promised me not to do that anymore, unless it was necessary to save a life. He hid at the bottom of a pond while a Swedish Short-Snout tried to stab him with one talon.”  
  
Li blinked. “I take it that he doesn’t need to be given encouragement to get closer to any more dragons.”  
  
“Exactly,” Draco said, grateful that Li understood.  
  
“And your fascination is so theoretical?”  
  
Draco shrugged. “I agreed to come on this holiday for Harry, and to see some beautiful animals. I’m grateful I came, and that I learned so many things. Thanks for teaching me,” he added. Li waved a hand, and Draco guessed he wanted Draco to get on with the explanation. “But knowledge is more of the lure for me. The—the wildness, the life, is for Harry.”  
  
Li considered that for a second, looking up at the ceiling. Draco didn’t look with him. He was sure he wouldn’t see there what Li did, anyway.  
  
Li abruptly looked back at him. “We have some more talking to do. There are still aspects of the elemental magic practiced in Britain that I don’t understand.”  
  
Draco nodded, unsurprised. Li seemed like someone who wanted to hear all the possible aspects of a theory so that he didn’t misunderstand anything.  
  
“And call me Jun.”  
  
Draco blinked, then smiled. He didn’t miss that the permission had only been extended to him, and not to Harry.  
  
But then again, Harry had been the one who earned the respect of the Swedish Dragon-Keepers. Draco had done nothing to help him there.  
  
 _It’s okay if we both get different things out of this holiday._


	11. Antipodean Opaleye

“Would you like to help me feed an Opaleye hatchling?”  
  
Draco blinked, and then blinked again. At least this time he was fully rested. He and Harry had got to New Zealand at an absurd time that made even Harry agree they needed rest before they went and saw the dragons. And then they’d actually spent a day wandering around talking to wizards and contemplating the scenery before they turned to the dragon sanctuary, on the banks of a wide river in a green valley.  
  
“I thought their mothers raised them.” Draco stared down at the glittering, flailing things at the Dragon-Keeper’s feet. He had never realized dragon hatchlings could be so small. Even the Welsh Green ones he had seen hatch looked bigger than that.  
  
“Oh, most of the time, yes,” said Annie Wilson, the Dragon-Keeper who had welcomed them. “But we’ve been taking some of the eggs away from the mothers lately so they’ll lay more. That way, there are two clutches where there might have only been one.” One of the hatchlings snapped at her foot with needle-like teeth. Wilson smiled and moved her foot. “One of the advantages to dragonhide boots,” she added. Draco supposed he must have looked a little pale.  
  
“Is there a population problem?” That was Harry, already getting down on one knee and extending a hand full of minced meat. Two squabbling dragonets snatched the same piece of meat, even as small as they were, and tugged it back and forth.  
  
“More that we want to make sure there won’t be one. Do you want to join us, Mr. Malfoy?”  
  
“Um. Yes. I suppose.”  
  
Draco made sure to keep a careful eye on Wilson’s hand position as he held out the meat. However useful the boots were, she hadn’t offered them dragonhide  _gloves_.  
  
It was like feeding a mess of jewels with teeth and claws and stubby wings. Their scales flashed so brilliantly in the sunlight that Draco found it hard to look directly at them. Even their eyes were jeweled, although more like a mixture of rubies and emeralds and sapphires than the diamonds their scales resembled.  
  
“Now,” said Wilson softly, when the struggles had slowed a little. “The hatchlings are getting full. Here’s something you can only do when they’re this quiet.” She reached out to one of the smaller ones who lay near her, belly up and legs running in the air in what looked like a dream.  
  
Carefully, she tickled around the edge of its jaw and cheeks. The dragon made a soft noise that sounded almost like a giggle and turned its head, letting Wilson touch what looked like soft skin instead of simply faceted scales. Wilson grinned at them, exhilarated, but made sure not to look away from the dragon.  
  
“Try it.”  
  
Draco chose a hatchling even smaller than she had, but the reaction was the same. The dragonet apparently thought he was some kind of beneficial rock, as long as it was staring off into full-fed bliss and not looking directly at him. Harry was laughing softly as he boldly petted one of their bulging stomachs. Draco found himself smiling whether or not he wanted to.  
  
“That’s it,” said Wilson, and sat back on her heels. She had stopped petting the hatchling herself, Draco noticed, but for once, he didn’t think a Dragon-Keeper was trying to avoid danger while exposing them to it. “You’re good at this.”  
  
The dragon’s skin was soft and warm and rippling under his hand, like more solid water. Draco looked down, marveling. The hatchling dug its shoulders into the ground and rolled a little more towards him, chirping sleepily.  
  
“This is one of the joys of this job,” said Wilson. Her head was bowed forwards so Draco couldn’t much of her face. But her voice told the truth of what she was saying. “We always have to be careful and respectful of the dragons, of course. But we also get to see them in all sorts of moods and conditions. I wouldn’t give this up for anything else.”  
  
Harry beamed at her, and then at Draco. Draco wasn’t sure what kind of message he was meant to be getting at the moment, so he only raised his eyebrows back. Then he looked hastily down as he felt the dragonet roll again.  
  
It had only gone to sleep, though. Draco tickled its chin one more time before he withdrew his hand.  
  
“But cautious and respectful are good things at all times, of course,” said Wilson. Draco found he could ignore the amusement in her voice.  
  
*  
  
Harry crouched and raised his eyebrows at Wilson. She’d brought them away from the small site on the bank of the stream where they’d fed the hatchlings to this larger one. Boulders slanted away in front of them down to a small island, marshy and swarming with grass, that stuck out from the bank. The water danced in front of them, and there was another Dragon-Keeper there with larger hatchlings frolicking about his feet. Harry thought they were the size of a small dog.  
  
“Is it safe to handle them when they’re that large?” Harry asked. He’d thought, from what Wilson said, that it was only the smallest ones the Dragon-Keepers bothered to touch.  
  
“They need to learn to hunt, in the way their parents would teach them. Right now, at that age, the ones we’ve raised still look to us. It takes a lot of training to raise them essentially wild, but at the same time, we  _can_ teach them that humans don’t make good prey. It’s worth it.”  
  
Harry hid a smile. He knew Wilson was saying that it was worth it from a human point of view, but from the way her face glowed, also working with the dragons was its own kind of pleasure.   
  
“Can we join you, Graham?” Wilson called out.  
  
Graham turned around slowly, ignoring the way the hatchlings reared up and put their forepaws on his knees. Harry supposed he must be wearing dragonhide trousers and cloak, as well. “If you promise that your guests aren’t going to be frightened by some of the things I’ll need to do. And if they have proper protective clothing, of course.”  
  
Wilson muttered something under her breath and cast several spells with rapid flicks of her wand. Harry made a mental note to ask her what they were later, so he could cast them if he wanted. They might be dead useful on Auror cases.  
  
“There. Now your trousers and cloaks are dragonhide, as are your boots. Come with me.”   
  
“Nice how she just  _knew_ we wouldn’t be frightened,” Draco muttered, leaning towards Harry as they walked down among the boulders.  
  
“Well, you did show her how brave you were playing with the hatchlings.”  
  
Draco shot him an incredulous glance. Harry didn’t have time to ask him what it was for—he  _did_ think Draco was brave—before they were up next to Wilson and Graham, and a hatchling came over to sniff his boots.  
  
“They need to be taught to fly,” Graham was saying, in the kind of steady lecturing tone that told Harry how many times he’d given this speech before. “At the same time, they need to be taught how to hunt along with it, or they’ll never be good hunters on the wing. So we use a variation of falconry training.”  
  
He reached down and picked up something Harry supposed was a glove. But it looked more like a war gauntlet, with wood and steel wrapped around it in an intricate weave Harry thought was Transfigured. Graham slid his hand into it, studied the fit for a minute, nodded, and reached down for one of the hatchlings.  
  
It grabbed onto his glove in a way that made Harry wince automatically. Wilson smiled at him. “This is why we train and wear the gloves,” she said, and tilted her head back as if she wanted to watch the moment when Graham raised the hatchling against the sky.  
  
“Like this,” said Graham. Then he used his wand to cast another spell.   
  
A cage Harry hadn’t even seen at Graham’s feet burst open, and some kind of small, fat bird took off across the stream-bank, down the island and into the water. The other dragonets tried to chase after it, but they were too slow and startled. Harry didn’t think he knew what the bird was himself. A quail?  
  
Graham abruptly snapped his hand down.  
  
The hatchling he’d been holding, with no support suddenly beneath it, hissed and catapulted into the air, flapping its wings. It turned and skimmed to the left, then to the right, and then oriented on something Harry couldn’t see and threw itself forwards.  
  
The quick ripples in the grass apparently marked where the bird was running. For a few seconds, they all watched in tense silence as the hatchling chased its prey. Harry could feel the thick tension smothering him. Even Draco leaned on his toes as if he would have liked to help the dragonet chase the bird down.  
  
“There.”  
  
Graham said the word in such a tone of satisfaction that Harry smiled. Yes, he could feel the release of tension at the same time as the hatchling wrapped itself around something much smaller that thrashed and fluttered. Then the dragonet bit down, and the struggling stopped, and Harry heard the crunching as the little dragon started eating.  
  
“That’s one with advanced training,” Graham said. “It’s very different with one that hasn’t had it, of course.” He picked up another hatchling, who balanced with its wings continually fluttering on his glove, and once again released a creature from the cage.  
  
It wasn’t a bird this time, but a hopping thing that blurred away. The hatchling Graham held crouched, then leaped.  
  
It didn’t open its wings in time, and although it did manage to glide instead of just crash, it ended up landing on the edge of the little island, half-in and half-out of the water. It beat and cried until Graham waded down to rescue it. Then it glared at his glove and breathed out a little flame as if the glove had done something to it.  
  
Harry jumped, but Wilson leaned towards him. “The glove has charms that protect it from the flame, too,” she murmured.  
  
Harry relaxed and nodded. Of course they would have to. Graham had picked up the hatchling by its tail, in fact, and draped it back over the glove. The dragonet clung with its feet and scowled at nothing as Graham walked back.  
  
“There are other kinds of enchantments on the glove, too,” said Draco abruptly. “Glamours? It seems strange.”  
  
Harry gave Draco a sideways, impressed glance. He hadn’t felt the glamours at all.  
  
“Ones to make it look like stone from a dragon’s perspective,” said Graham, with a smile at Draco that made Draco preen. “They need to feel as if they’re flying from stone ledges when they hunt. It’s one of their natural tactics, and we want to encourage them to be as natural as possible.”  
  
“They can’t smell the truth beneath the glamours?”  
  
“They don’t have that keen a sense of smell when they’re this age. That comes later. They mostly hunt by sight now.”  
  
Harry watched as Graham released another hopping creature, and the dragon took off after it. This time, the hatchling made it more of the way, but still missed the strike. It apparently had a small tantrum in the water once it had landed, raising its neck and shaking it back and forth, stamping with its feet, and shrieking.  
  
“It takes them a long time,” Graham said comfortably, and reached for another hatchling. “But they’ll get it in the end.” He smiled at the hatchling who had killed the bird, which was already looking around as if asking where the next meal would come from. “They’ll hunt a lot less when they get older, but bigger meals. They’re so cute when they’re this age.”  
  
“How long did it take you to construct a glove like that?”  
  
Wilson was more than willing to answer Draco’s questions, which meant Harry could lean on a rock and watch Graham patiently releasing creature after creature, launching the dragonets after them, and training others simply to sit on the glove instead of trying to leap off right away. This was more the sort of thing he had envisioned when he first invited Draco on this holiday, he thought. Watching dragons do the sort of things dragons did, while experienced Dragon-Keepers explained them.  
  
A young dragon clutched the glove for a second, leaped off, and downed its prey in a glittering rush of wings and feet.   
  
Harry smiled, and then blinked as Graham turned and offered him the glove.  
  
“Er, I don’t have any training,” Harry tried to explain. Maybe the training in New Zealand’s Ministry was different and they assumed he would know how to handle dangerous magical creatures just because he was an Auror.  
  
“I know that,” said Graham. “I’ll guide you through this. When you’re wearing a glove this thick and dealing with hatchlings this young, the danger is minimal, anyway.”  
  
“What happened to always being cautious and respectful?”  
  
Harry muttered the words as he fit the glove onto his hand, not intending Graham to overhear him, but Graham snickered anyway, and shook his head. “There are limits to that, too, or you’d never be able to work with dragons at all. You would always be jumpy, wondering where the next disaster is going to come from. Really, the main thing I wish they emphasized when they were training our new candidates as Dragon-Keepers was the necessity of being  _calm_. We get too many people who think ‘alert’ is enough.”  
  
Harry nodded and watched as the glove settled around his arm, the straps sliding into place and the glamours locking at the same time. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel them, the flickers of small, expressive magic that made the glove look like stone even to him if he turned his head fast enough.  
  
“Now. Make sure you always aim the dragon at the prey. Keep a calm expression on your face. They can interpret an upset one. Lift your arm and brace it—yes, like that, against the weight. No, turn a bit more sideways. They hate flying straight into the sun.”  
  
Harry snorted a little. Yeah, brace against the weight. When it was already making a cramped feeling flow up his arm and his shoulder muscles burn.  
  
But then the dragon lifted its head and turned it back and forth with a darting tongue, and Harry smiled. He didn’t care what Graham had said about the Opaleyes mostly hunting by sight at this stage in their lives; this one looked like any predator testing the air.  
  
The hatchling shone. Harry looked at the talons clenched on his glove and shook his head. He knew they were dangerous and the glove was necessary, but like this, all he could think of was how beautiful they were and how well they would serve the dragon when it went flying to hunt.  
  
“…Mr. Potter, are you listening to me?”  
  
“You’re getting ready to release the prey, and I should brace against the weight and not aim the dragon at the sun, but aim him at the prey instead.”  
  
“I suppose you are.” Graham’s eyes at least held understanding, and Harry relaxed. “Now. here we  _are!_ ”  
  
When he sang the last word, he waved his wand, and the cage released again. This time, it was another bird, Harry saw, but this one didn’t run down the riverbank. It turned and flew along the river instead.  
  
Harry drew his arm back a little and felt the dragon tense, claws gripping the glove, its whole body shifting.  
  
Harry threw the dragon after the bird, ignoring the way Graham said something about how stone ledges didn’t throw dragons, and they should try to avoid doing it, too, so that they would still give the hatchlings a natural experience.  
  
But it was such a thrill. There was the blaze of sunlight on scales right in front of Harry’s eyes, and then the shift of his arm muscles, and the shift of the dragon’s muscles at the same time, and the way his wings flared out, and then he was flying in front of Harry, hard and high and  _aimed_.  
  
And the moment when he leaped—  
  
There were no words for that, Harry thought. The dragon took his heart with it, and he watched with aching eyes as the dragon flew straight after the bird, not moving at all from its path no matter how much the bird dodged, wings pumping faster and faster.  
  
In the end, that was what lost it the prey. The bird flew left, the dragon turned after it, and then suddenly the bird went right and up, and the dragon couldn’t follow in time. Harry blinked for the first time since the hatchling had taken flight from his glove as the long, slender wings threw back the sunlight in a single, dazzling flash and the hatchling screamed in frustration.  
  
It didn’t throw a tantrum like the one Harry had seen miss the hopping creature, but it did dig its claws into the grass beneath it and rip so hard that Harry saw stems fly up around it.  
  
“A good try for the first time,” said Graham, and held out his hand for the glove. Harry unstrapped it reluctantly, handing it back with a shake of his arm. It wasn’t that he had enjoyed wearing the glove so much, but losing the weight was like losing the last trace of the moment when the dragon had flown.  
  
“I think you would make a natural Dragon-Keeper if you wanted to pursue that path, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry knew that Draco would be looking anxiously at him from his conversation with Wilson, not because he could feel the gaze, but simply because this was something Draco would be afraid of. But Harry shook his head and smiled.  
  
“I’m perfectly happy with my current life. But thanks. I just wanted to touch wildness for a second, and now I’ve had the chance.”  
  
*  
  
Draco had enjoyed his discussion with Dragon-Keeper Wilson. He used glamours in his business to make his mechanical animals look more realistic, of course, but there were some glamours here he hadn’t thought of. He hadn’t known any that would make an object look more realistic to animals rather than humans.  
  
But he had known exactly where Harry was at all times, and when he turned around and saw the expression on Harry’s face, when he heard Graham’s words, when he saw the way Harry fixed on that dragon hatchling…  
  
He clipped his conversation off enough that Wilson stared at him in confusion, but Draco didn’t apologize. And she didn’t ask. She just stood there while Draco vibrated in anticipation of Harry’s answer.  
  
And then it came, and Draco thought he felt something new.  
  
He  _understood_.  
  
The way that Harry flung himself into risk, and why he wanted to see dragons, and even why he had been willing to take a chance on someone like Draco, when his friends probably thought he should be dating someone else, someone more suitable.  
  
Harry wanted to touch wildness. That didn’t mean he needed to be surrounded by it all the time, or that he couldn’t like other things, or that he didn’t need other things and people in his life. It was just that this was part of the way he was.  
  
And that meant Draco could understand and accept both parts of Harry, too, and the way that he acted when he was with dragons wasn’t the way he would necessarily act when they were alone.  
  
He grinned at Harry, and Harry grinned back, in the moment before they turned to renew their conversations with their respective Dragon-Keepers.


	12. Peruvian Vipertooth

“It’s not very likely that you’ll get Dragon Pox.” Gabriela Quispe paused as though she was thinking about it, and then repeated, “Not  _very_ likely.”  
  
“I would prefer not to get it,” Draco said, so dryly that Harry smiled. But Draco added, “My grandfather died of it,” and Harry lost the smile. His own grandparents had, too, he thought. He’d only learned that when he did a little looking into the Potter family after the war.  
  
“Well, that’s why I said not very likely. We do make some attempts to protect our guests.” Quispe leaned her arms on the stone wall in front of them and studied them with one dark eye, like a bird. “But it’s not a certainty. Dragon Pox first spread from wizards working with Peruvian Vipertooths. Do you want to go on?”  
  
Harry looked over the stone wall in front of them. They were at the top of a “small” cliff—given some of the mountains, it probably was small to Quispe—that fell away into stone steps in front of them. Trees corkscrewed along the sides and reached out with vines and flowers to drape the steps. Quispe said it was a ruin that the Muggles hadn’t found and might never find, since it was invisible from further than a few meters away on the ground.  
  
It was exactly the kind of place that Peruvian Vipertooths liked to hide, apparently. Harry imagined one of them lunging from under one of the steps, and winced.  
  
“I do,” Draco said, and his eyes had a sheen to them that made Harry blink. Apparently Draco had his own version of recklessness sometimes. “I made a Vipertooth figurine for a client once. He scolded me for not making it realistic enough. I want to see how they move.”  
  
“You might not see that until they lunge at you.” Quispe swung herself over the wall. She wore her hair hanging halfway down her back, but Harry had already seen she had spells on it that made it melt harmlessly through the branches and stones. “Come on, then.”  
  
“Comforting, isn’t she?” Draco muttered at Harry’s back as they followed her onto the steps.  
  
“Dragon-Keepers aren’t supposed to be comforting,” Quispe told them, without even looking back at them.  
  
“But it’s a good thing for them when they have sharp hearing,” Harry said. Quispe gave a little grunt of acknowledgment. Harry had to pay attention to his footing then, since the steps were sometimes tilted and always rough.  
  
As they descended into the ruin, other sounds than human voices rose up around them. Harry heard distant, sharp screeches that Quispe had told them were monkeys, rather than birds. There were hard thumps, the shaking of branches, the rustling of leaves, the steps of small animals scuttling out of the way. For a moment, large wings blocked the sun, but Harry looked up and found out it was a condor, not a dragon. Even Peruvian Vipertooths, although they were smaller than a lot of other dragons, were larger than that.  
  
Then Quispe paused. Harry drew his wand before he thought about it. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he trusted a Dragon-Keeper to be attuned to the dangers of this place as most people couldn’t.  
  
“ _Down!_ ”  
  
Harry was already on the step before the first letter left her lips. He felt a jaw pass for a second over his head, close enough to ruffle his hair. Then he was grasping Draco and rolling himself up next to Quispe, who sat with her wand out and her eyes darting back and forth.  
  
A Peruvian Vipertooth coiled three wide steps below them, mouth open to show its fangs. The copper scales flashed in the sun, sleek and dazzling. Harry shook his head in a daze. He could see black markings on the dragon’s back, and he knew from his reading that they were supposed to be there naturally, but he didn’t think they  _usually_ formed what looked like the symbol of a masked face.  
  
The dragon hissed and spat something. Harry thought it was fire for a second, but then he saw the incredibly fine drops that arched towards him.  
  
“Venom!” he called, even as he flung up a Bouncing Shield against it, surrounding them all in a dome of green light. The Bouncing Shield was better against physical threats than a Shield Charm, which mostly blocked magic.  
  
Quispe nodded to him and leaned close enough to murmur, “A rogue. I didn’t know there was one when we came here. But they like to hide in places where humans once lived. They favor human prey.”  
  
Harry didn’t say anything, simply watching the dragon. It moved forwards far enough to dart out its tongue and flick it against the Bouncing Shield. Although it wasn’t a harsh attack, the shield still read it  _as_ an attack and glowed sharply, sending the tongue flying back into the Vipertooth’s mouth. The dragon squealed in pain and drew in its breath.  
  
“This time it will be the fire. And I do not think the shield can survive the flames.”  
  
Which meant neither could they. Harry began to spin his wand in a circle, lowering the shield enough that he could aim over it but not so far that he couldn’t snap it back up if the dragon decided to go for venom instead. Then he called out, “ _Aguamenti altus!_ ”  
  
His spell got there before the dragon’s fire, luckily, and shot straight down its throat, soaking the flames before they could be born. The Vipertooth snarled and slithered forwards, wings beating furiously. Harry snapped the shield up again.  
  
“We can’t simply sit here behind a Bouncing Shield for the rest of the afternoon, you know.” Quispe sounded amused.  
  
Harry glanced over at Draco. He was white to the lips and sat with his hands clenched on his lap. Harry reached around behind Quispe’s back and took Draco’s hand. She twisted to watch them, but only raised her eyebrows instead of saying anything.  
  
“I know something else that might stop it,” Harry said, and again lowered the shield enough to cast a spell over the top of it. The Vipertooth seemed to have been waiting for that, though, and it charged with its neck waving and an enraged screech breaking from its throat. Harry only changed his stance a little and cast the spell he had thought of anyway.  
  
One of the trailing vines from a leaning tree got bigger and coiled like a lasso. The Vipertooth stepped into it, and Harry pulled his wand up. The vine wrapped in a tight loop around the dragon’s hind foot, tugged it into the air, and kept it bouncing there. The tree it hung from seemed to be pretty springy.  
  
The dragon breathed fire again. Harry raised the shield, then glanced at Quispe. “Do you know spells that can Stun a dragon? Or the equivalent?”  
  
“I might,” said Quispe, with a faint smile that Harry returned.  
  
“You could have handled the rogue on your own, couldn’t you?”  
  
“Oh, but you seemed to be having so much fun,” Quispe murmured, moving past him and lifting her own wand. There was an intensity to her gaze as she studied the dragon that Harry thought meant she knew exactly how long it was and how big its wings were and how hot its fire would be.  
  
Then she spoke a single incantation Harry didn’t know, although he thought he heard  _ignis_ , fire, in it. Her wand scraped the air in a swirling motion. The Vipertooth focused on her and acted as though it was going to pull its head back and breathe some more flame, but it didn’t get the chance.   
  
A second later, its head was dangling on its limp neck, eyes glazed in deep sleep. Harry watched as clear eyelids slid shut, and nodded to Quispe.  
  
“I have been remiss as a guide, you know.” Quispe clasped her hands and shook her head in what Harry knew had to be mock sorrow. “I promised to show you dragons, and so far you’ve only seen one rogue that you had to find yourself.”  
  
“We don’t mind.” Draco had calmed down, Harry knew, or he would never have been able to walk even as near the dragon as he had to then, coming down the steps and passing the tree it hung on with a glance of distaste.  
  
“I want to show you a situation that’s not that dangerous.” Quispe’s voice was soft and she leaned against the tree, reaching out to tickle the side of the dragon’s neck. It stirred and thrashed but didn’t wake up. “Will you trust me to do that?”  
  
“Hatchlings, you mean?”  
  
Quispe shook her head. “Something else. Will you let me?” She gave them a smile that Harry found himself returning. It certainly hadn’t been  _her_ fault that a rogue dragon had come out of the ruin, and she had warned them about the danger before she led them down the steps.  
  
But he turned to Draco first. Because he did have to make sure it was okay with Draco.  
  
For a long moment, he thought Draco would disagree. He was staring at the rogue dragon with such a set mouth that Harry knew he was imagining what would have happened if it had got past the shields or the other guards that Harry and Quispe had tried to raise. And Vipertooths had the additional attacks like venom as well as the fire and the general danger of a dragon to make their reputation ferocious.  
  
But he finally turned around with a slightly sickly but determined expression on his face. He nodded, once.  
  
“Good, then,” said Quispe, and started down the steps into the ruin again. Harry shot Draco a concerned glance and reached for his hand.  
  
Draco caught it and held onto it so ferociously that Harry eased towards him. Draco murmured, “I’m not fond of the part where we almost die.  _Constantly_.”   
  
Harry smiled. Of course Draco wouldn’t be, and it wasn’t as though Harry could blame him. “I’ll tell you what. If what Quispe shows us is more dangerous than a hatchling, then we’ll leave.”  
  
“Even though you want to see it?”  
  
“My wants don’t matter as much to me as your needs. And right now, I think you need to be away from dragons for a little while.”  
  
Draco was silent long enough that they covered most of the distance to the ground on the steps. Then he sighed and murmured, “Not—precisely away. I enjoy seeing dragons. I enjoy seeing your  _face_ when you watch them. But that was a sharper reminder of the danger than I’m comfortable with.”  
  
Harry nodded in agreement. “Then we’ll go back to the hostel and look at those pamphlets of dragons that I saw them selling out in front. That way, at least we can see them from a safe distance.”  
  
“You were the one who told me not to buy them because—”  
  
“I thought we would be seeing the real thing in a few minutes, and you should save your money. But it’s not going to work that way.”  
  
Draco considered him from a corner of one eye. Harry made sure to keep Quispe in sight, and said nothing. He thought Draco was more shaken than he’d admit to, but Draco was also the only one who had the right to make up his mind about something like that.  
  
“Then we’ll go on,” Draco said at last. “But the least glimpse of venom or flame, and I expect you to honor your promise.”  
  
Harry smiled and kissed him on the tip of his nose. Draco flushed and cast a silent, indignant glance in Quispe’s direction. But since she was still moving ahead of them and watching out for more Vipertooths with an experience Harry knew he couldn’t match, Draco finally relaxed and leaned on his shoulder a little.  
  
“You assume that we’ll see something worth seeing this time. Something peaceful. Or safe.”  
  
Harry nodded. “Probably nothing to match what we found in the Opaleye sanctuary. I doubt they hunt with hatchlings here.”  
  
*  
  
But they  _did_ do something else, Draco thought, staring.   
  
They had come to the end of the steps at last, and out into the middle of what Draco thought of as a stretch of undifferentiated jungle. At the very least, there was no sign that humans had once lived here. But then Quispe had led them around what was unmistakably a corner, even if it was a wall buried under a tangle of vines, and come to a halt. Draco looked around.  
  
In front of them was a large stone with flowers trailing up it from invisible trees on the other side. On the ground was the tangle of old plants and shady, leafy things that Draco didn’t know enough Herbology to identify. He didn’t see what was particularly significant about the place, though, and tried to tell Quispe that with his eyes.  
  
Quispe only reached up and started scratching the stone.  
  
Draco stared, and then his eyes seemed to realign. The stone was a coppery color if you squinted, although more like copper with verdigris. The flowers draped over what could be cracks, or could be scales. And when the dragon lifted its head and yawned, showing off its fangs, Draco had no trouble in seeing the danger.  
  
But the dragon made no move to attack. It only turned and burrowed its sleek muzzle further back into the earth, wings curling around it. Quispe walked beside it, stroking one hand up and down in what Draco supposed were soothing motions. He wouldn’t know. No one had ever taught him how to soothe a dragon.  
  
“How?” Harry’s voice made the dragon’s ears twitch, and Draco shivered, braced for a bark of flame.  
  
But all Quispe did was smile at them in serene understanding. “This is Birdcatcher, as we call him. He’s so old that he can only really catch birds that land on him now. Sometimes he lies there with his mouth open so water collects in it, and when a bird lands in it and tries to take a bath…” Quispe trailed off, shaking her head.  
  
Draco gave a soft swallow, staring at the dragon. “Does he not mind you touching him because he’s old?”  
  
“And clever. He realizes that humans are easier to take food from than eat. And he spends more time basking in the sunlight than hunting, anyway. And we’re good at scratching itches that he’d have to roll over to reach. This way, he gets to spend more time sleeping.”  
  
 _And you get to spend time touching him,_ Draco thought. He’d been watching, and as Quispe turned back to the Vipertooth, he saw the worshipful expression she wore. Apparently it was never far away from a Dragon-Keeper’s face.  
  
“Would you like to touch him?” Quispe added then, so softly Draco knew she might not mind if he just ignored the request.  
  
“Is he only relaxed with people he knows?” Harry asked at once. Draco bit back the temptation to scoff. Of course that would be Harry’s main question.  
  
“He barely glances at me when I’m here. Or anyone else, either. As long as people have hands, they can scratch him.”  
  
Draco glanced at Harry. Harry was already looking back at him, waiting. He was obviously going to let Draco make this decision.  
  
Which meant Draco had to be the one to guess, too, whether Harry would be horribly disappointed by the chance not to touch a dragon. He had done more of it than Draco had, that was for sure, Draco thought, shuddering a little at the remembrance of Harry running up the Hebridean Black’s spine.  
  
Draco had done it only once, with the Antipodean Opaleye hatchlings. And he wanted…  
  
He wanted to show Harry he wasn’t afraid. He wanted Harry to have his desire. And he wanted, too, to see what the difference was between an old Peruvian Vipertooth and a young Antipodean Opaleye.  
  
“All right,” he said. His voice didn’t waver. He was remembering, too, how he had learned about elemental magic from Li Jun and species-specific glamours from Annie Wilson. He was more than just Harry’s tagalong in this trip. And he wanted to show people  _that_ , too.  
  
Quispe moved a little out of their way, walking further down the dragon’s side. Draco came up next to the wing, and Harry to the dragon’s face. Of course he would go _there_ , Draco thought, trying to hide the way his hand shook as he touched the dragon on the side.  
  
For an instant, he decided that it wouldn’t be as spectacular an experience as he’d thought after all. The scales felt like nothing under his hand except warm stone. Maybe there was a chilly touch of metal, too. The only warmth was the sunlight.  
  
Then Draco felt as though his awareness had traveled deeper and he could tell the difference between sunlight and the dragon’s heat, between scale and stone, after all. There was a light, flexing material beneath his fingers. Draco curled them and felt the wing respond, shivering as though it was going to unfurl.  
  
He prepared himself to jump backwards, but in the meantime, he stood there, stroking.  
  
The wing didn’t unfold. It curled closer against the dragon’s side instead, and the dragon sighed in a way that made Draco think about times when he was a child and his mother scratched the middle of his back for him. He smiled and rested his hand harder against the wing.  
  
The Vipertooth shifted a little. Draco looked towards Harry, and saw the dragon opening its mouth.  
  
“The venom!” Draco shouted, but his voice cracked like a stone into the middle of the calm air of the clearing, and both Harry and Quispe looked at him with small disapproving expressions.   
  
“It’s not coming out,” said Harry, and waved his hand up and down in front of the Vipertooth’s jaws. “See?”  
  
“Then why did he open his mouth?”  
  
“Dragons sometimes do that to take in more air. It can be a struggle for them to breathe in the traditional fashion.”  
  
Draco flushed and ignored the patronizing tone in Quispe’s voice. He hadn’t  _known_.  
  
And as he watched, Harry did take a step back from the teeth. He was stroking along the top of the dragon’s nose, whisper-light touches that Draco thought were more likely to irritate the Vipertooth than help him.  
  
But even as he watched, the dragon closed his eyes again and turned his head towards Harry. His face didn’t alter much; nor did Draco think that  _he_ would necessarily know what a dragon’s happy expression looked like even if he saw it. But he thought he saw the relaxation of some lines that had been there, and that the dragon was probably as near happy as they ever came to feeling.  
  
Then the dragon’s head dropped straight down, and he lay there, jaws open and panting a little, as Harry continued to stroke him.  
  
Draco turned his attention back to the wing in front of him. It was delicate only in the middle, he realized, where the skin and leather sometimes flexed as if it was a butterfly wing that might rupture at a single touch. The bones were as firm as stone when Draco touched them, which was one reason he had been fooled at first into thinking there was no difference between the dragon and a rock.   
  
And the colors were much more varied than Draco had thought they were when he looked more closely. Copper, yes, but also brown, and dull, variegated gold, and delicate splotches of tan and honey and black. The black markings on its back might make a pattern if you could see them from above, but this close, they simply made a delightful, broken scattering of darkness.  
  
“You’re enjoying this.”  
  
Quispe’s voice was low. Draco glanced at her and nodded. Now that he had started a regular stroking pattern on the dragon’s side, he didn’t intend to let up with it.  
  
“Good,” said Quispe, and smiled, and moved around on Birdcatcher’s other side, presumably to continue stroking him.  
  
 _But you’re not really Birdcatcher, are you?_ Draco thought.  _You might not have a name. Or other dragons might know you by your scent or your behavior, but you don’t think of yourself by a name at all. You’re you. Why do you need to distinguish yourself from anyone else? You always know the difference._  
  
The dragon breathed softly out. Draco didn’t even need to look towards Harry. He knew the breath wouldn’t carry any flame, and he was a little busy right now.  
  
It seemed like hours that he stood there, stroking, feeling the deep warmth that he supposed came from banked fires, and then Harry put a hand on his shoulder and stunned him out of it. Draco turned around, blinking and shaking his head.  
  
“Quispe says we should leave before it gets dark.”  
  
Draco blinked slowly, and let his mind return from thoughts about dragons to thoughts about going back to the hostel. “Okay,” he said stupidly, and let Harry lead him back towards the ruin’s steps.  
  
He did look back, though, to watch the sleeping dragon as he lay reclined in the last, fading beams of the sun.  
  
 _I suppose I understand a little more about what a Dragon-Keeper feels than I thought I did._


	13. Coming Home

“I just realized something,” Draco said in a low voice as he and Harry stepped into Harry’s house.  
  
“What is it?” Harry leaned against the wall and slowly stretched one leg out in front of him. Floo travel shouldn’t take that much out of anyone, he thought. It ought to be simple. You tossed powder, stepped into one set of flames, whirled around a little, stepped out at another one. They’d spent more time waiting for a fireplace to become available, or sometimes for a Portkey to be cleared on the last few stages, than doing anything active.  
  
But he ached anyway. He yawned and missed Draco’s next words. He opened his eyes and found Draco looking at him with his head cocked and one eyebrow raised.  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered.   
  
Draco only nodded as if to say he expected some rudeness, and then went on, “You didn’t collect any souvenirs. I don’t think we brought one thing back with us that’s going to remind you of the journey.”  
  
“Of course we did,” Harry said, and felt anticipation flood his body and soothe away some of the aches. “The memories, for one thing. I think I’ll remember this for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure you will, too.”  
  
“Er, yes,” said Draco, staring at Harry with steadily blinking eyes. Harry suspected he was wondering about the way Harry stalked towards him now, smiling all the time.  
  
“And I brought you, and the strength that this has given our relationship,” Harry murmured into his ear, and caught Draco close with one arm around his waist. “If you only _knew_ the way I feel now when I look into your eyes, and I know that you petted a Peruvian Vipertooth and an Antipodean Opaleye and you talked down Dragon-Keepers who didn’t understand what they’d done wrong…”  
  
“So you like me because I’m more like you.”  
  
Draco’s voice was breathless, but Harry made sure that he pulled back, looked him in the eyes, and smoothed a hand down his face. “Of course not. I like you because you share memories with me and you’re strong and I think you’re more you after going to see the dragons than you were before.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous, Harry. You can’t be more you. You’re you at the moment of your birth, and you don’t change.”  
  
“Do forgive me,” said Harry, and gave him a little bow with his hand splayed open on his chest. “I forgot to make sure of that in between dealing with the Horcrux and dying and coming back to life and then making a life with someone I thought was one of my worst schoolboy rivals.”  
  
Draco swallowed, but didn’t apologize. He must have been able to tell that Harry was joking.  _Well, if he can’t then I’m officially worried about him,_ Harry thought, as he watched Draco pull back and stare at him from still-blinking eyes.  
  
“You really want to make a life with me.”  
  
 _Oh_. Although Harry wasn’t wrong very often, it  _had_ been known to happen. And of course Draco would care more about that than about Harry’s other words.  
  
“Yes.” Harry picked up one of Draco’s hands, which flexed and twisted in his grasp for a second as though Draco was going to pull away, but in the end, he didn’t. Harry kissed each of his knuckles and then laid Draco’s hand gently back over his arm. “I do. I’ve learned enough about you now to realize how well we complement each other, and that’s what I want. Someone who’s strong and centered in himself and who I can love and who loves me.”  
  
Draco’s throat bobbed, even though he’d already spoken the words himself. “What makes you think I’m strong?”  
  
“You faced your fear. You took a chance. You came with me even though you didn’t know what you would find on the journey.” Harry crowded Draco a bit more back into the wall, and Draco went with it, his eyes wide and wondering and his face almost dazed. “All of that’s brave, Draco. So brave it hurts me.”  
  
“Hurts?”  
  
“In a good way.” Harry slid his hand up Draco’s cheek. “Now, I think I’ve made my intentions more than clear. It’s time to hear about yours. Do you want to make a life with me? Or not?”  
  
The way Harry felt at the moment, he was ninety percent sure he knew what Draco’s answer was. But he was also sure that he could go on if Draco needed more time or even if he denied him. All the aches had vanished. There was a singing golden strength in him, beating like the wings of dragons.  
  
*  
  
Draco stared at Harry with his mouth open, a little shaken. Maybe a little awed, which was not the way he had expected to feel  _at all_ when Harry made a proposal to him like this.  
  
 _He hasn’t explained what it’s going to be like, being his lover._  
  
Then Draco shook his head. He was intelligent enough to imagine that for himself.   
  
It would mean that some of the small, comfortable things they had shared would vanish. He hadn’t ever thought that he  _had_ to stay the night with Harry. It hadn’t mattered more than a slight, stinging moment if they made plans and then something came up that meant one of them had to miss it. Draco had accepted that he didn’t know much about Harry’s Auror cases, just as Harry didn’t show much interest in Draco’s work.  
  
All of that would wither and fade away. Draco would expect more attention from someone who was a permanent fixture in his life. He would have to hear more about those Auror cases. He and Harry would—  
  
 _Maybe not die for each other. I don’t know if that’s true even now._  
  
But it did mean that they would be closer and he couldn’t walk away if something simply went wrong. Of course, neither could Harry. And Draco had a humming memory in his head of the moment when Harry had walked a Hebridean Black’s spine for him.  
  
 _Maybe Harry would die to keep me safe, at that._  
  
Draco took a deep breath and focused on the beloved face so near his own. Harry didn’t look upset that Draco had taken the time to consider. He simply waited, his chin on Draco’s shoulder and his eyes focused on Draco’s face. Draco reached up and slid his hand over the faded scar on Harry’s forehead.  
  
“I’ll be with you,” he whispered.  
  
Harry’s smile was triumphant. He grabbed Draco and drowned him with a kiss, and then whirled him around and started dragging him in the direction of his bedroom.  
  
Draco went with him, his emotions stirred to a brilliant roil in his belly. On the one hand, he wanted to grab Harry and slow him down and ask some questions.  
  
On the other hand, sometimes it was mesmerizing to act like a Gryffindor. And he truly didn’t fear falling. He knew Harry would always catch him on the way down.  
  
*  
  
Harry kissed Draco again when they got into the bedroom, and again just inside the door, and again against the wall. By then, Draco was starting to look cross-eyed with pleasure. Harry smiled and kissed him against the pillows of the bed, before he let him lie down and stepped away to start undressing.  
  
Draco’s eyes burned like dragonfire as they followed him. Harry had to admit that he liked the way Draco looked at him. It made even the simple act of taking off his robes and his pants and his socks gratifying.  
  
When Harry was naked, even though Draco had seen that plenty of times before, he leaned his elbow on the bed and sat up, staring. Then he reached out and made a little beckoning gesture with his hand.  
  
Curious, Harry walked towards him. He wondered what Draco was going to do when he got close. Maybe start undressing himself, or just go on staring?  
  
He didn’t expect it when Draco caught Harry’s cock roughly in one hand and began to stroke it. Groaning, Harry knelt on the bed, swaying. All the strength seemed to have gone from his legs. He ended up crashing to the side like a fallen tree with Draco kneeling over him and kissing him until his mouth ached.   
  
“You’re—”  
  
Harry didn’t get the chance to tell Draco how wonderful he was, because Draco had kissed him silent and sat up, pulling his own robes over his head. Harry watched as all the scars he had seen before shone out again, before Draco spelled the fire in the grate even brighter. Then Harry got to see the shadows melt from under Draco’s chin and elbows and all the other places they seemed to linger.  
  
“You’re beautiful.”  
  
At least he got to say it this time, and watch the blush racing down Draco’s chest to his groin, before Draco shook his head a little and knelt over Harry. Then he turned into a tease, bobbing his groin up and down until Harry reached for him. Only then did Draco raise an eyebrow, mutter something that might have been, “Impatient,” and bring his cock squarely into contact with Harry’s.  
  
It felt better than the fire. Harry put an arm over his face. It was too intense not to. It felt like his eyes were going to be boiled out of his head with the heat of Draco’s stare.  
  
Draco reached out and took Harry’s arm off his eyes, kissing him again. At least he didn’t object when Harry  _closed_ his eyes. He also reached out and gently wiped some of the sweat off Harry’s scar.  
  
“Come on,” Draco said a minute later, and rolled Harry over.  
  
Harry went with it, a little surprised. This was rarely Draco’s favorite position for sex. He claimed that he liked to see as much of his partner’s face as possible.  
  
But maybe Draco wanted to do this because they’d seen each other’s faces last time. He kissed the back of Harry’s shoulder and moved down towards his arse, muttering to himself the whole time. Harry propped himself up on his elbows and grabbed a pillow, handing it to Draco. Draco nudged him. “Lift up.”  
  
Harry did, and Draco slid the pillow into place, petting Harry’s hips and hole as he did so. Harry dropped his head back and sighed. “There’s lube in the drawer of the table you can use, you know.”  
  
“I like making my own.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and smiled. He heard Draco conjure the lube with a simple spell that Harry had taught him. It seemed before he knew that spell, Draco had relied on complex potions. That might be fun in its own way, Harry thought.   
  
Draco warmed the lube between his fingers, only dripping it on Harry’s skin when maybe five minutes had passed. Harry didn’t mind. He had drifted into bliss, just knowing Draco was there and with him, and their relationship had survived the dragons intact after all. Even deepened.  
  
“Harry? Still with me?”  
  
“Always,” Harry murmured, and lifted his hips again so that Draco could readjust his arse and enter him. He grunted a little, but Draco immediately moved, and after that, Harry was concentrating more on settling his erection comfortably and getting as much pleasure as he could out of Draco’s fingers.  
  
Draco prepared him for Merlin knew how long. Harry didn’t bother counting the minutes this time. He was safe and warm and nothing could hurt him here, and if Draco was impatient, it was certainly impossible to guess that from the way his fingers slid and skated around on Harry’s skin.  
  
“Let me know if something hurts.”   
  
Harry dropped his head onto his elbows in acceptance, and felt Draco slowly begin to enter him with his cock. It caused a bolt of shock up his spine at first, the way it always did, and then Draco shifted him around again and adjusted his posture, and Harry tossed his head back and gasped.  
  
“Feel good?” Draco was smiling against the back of Harry’s neck, which he had leaned in to kiss.  
  
“Oh,  _yeah_ ,” Harry said, and his words trailed off into a moan that he knew was more convincing than anything he could actually say. Draco laughed and began to move in a languid way. Harry was the one who thrust back his arse, and Draco rolled his eyes—Harry knew he did that without looking or hearing him, because of course he did—and picked up the pace.  
  
The pillow stayed in place this time, at least, not like the last time they’d done this and Harry ended up shooting it out from under his thighs. Harry closed his eyes and felt the melting bliss take him over once more, turning his spine into mush and relaxing muscles in his thighs that always felt tense unless Draco was inside him like this.  
  
This was pleasure, and happiness, and being with Draco. He reached back, found one hand when Draco was in the middle of changing position, and squeezed his wrist once.  
  
Draco kissed the back of his neck again and began to thrust more frantically. Harry tried to lift his arse and help. He knew Draco was close, and he always liked to make Harry come before he did, or not long after.  
  
It worked. The pillow slipped against Harry’s groin and shot him over the edge with a sharpness that made him actually cry out; a second later he’d slumped down and become limp enough to let Draco ride him as hard as he wanted.  
  
This time, Draco used his teeth on the back of Harry’s neck, which made Harry bury his head in the pillow in front of him, because he would make truly embarrassing noises otherwise. And then Draco was over that edge, too, and lying on top of Harry a second later, panting in what sounded like surprise.  
  
“We’re good together.”  
  
Harry chuckled tiredly and reached back to bat at Draco’s hand. “Did you think we would get  _worse_ because of knowing each other better? Budge up, you’re heavy.”  
  
“I’m not, you’re just less capable than usual of bearing weight on your arse,” Draco retorted, but he rolled to the bed and around to Harry’s side. “And no, not that. I wanted to know how good this would be, along with everything else.”  
  
Harry flung an arm around Draco’s shoulders and began the long, slow process of rolling on his side to face him. The pillow he’d been lying on promptly went shooting over the side of the bed. Harry rolled his eyes in turn. At least this time it hadn’t happened in the middle of the sex.  
  
“You’re the one who has to clean up the stains tomorrow,” Draco said, and curled harder than ever into Harry’s side, as if he thought Harry would take the chance to get up and clean right now.  
  
“Of course I will,” Harry said.   
  
He wanted to say something else, something more profound, about what Draco meant to him and how the sex was fantastic and  _Draco_ was fantastic, but by the time he had thought up the right words, Draco was making tiny snoring sounds. Harry stared at him, then snorted a little and curled up pretty hard himself.  
  
They were technically back a day before they were supposed to be, thanks to a few early Floos and Portkeys. Harry didn’t have to go in to work tomorrow, although he thought Draco would probably want to go home and check on the owl post he’d received during his absence. Well. That was fine. Harry would tell him in the morning.  
  
*  
  
“Harry? Oh…”  
  
Draco turned slowly away from the bacon sizzling on the plate in front of him. He’d got up first that morning and decided to make breakfast, since Harry was still asleep and house-elves were nowhere in evidence. He’d worn one of Harry’s battered Auror robes that he still kept out of sentiment as much as anything. At least it covered all the important bits.  
  
Although Draco wasn’t sure if it was  _enough_ important bits, considering it was Weasley who had just come into the kitchen.  
  
Weasley cleared his throat and looked around as if he was seeking some support in the spoons and knives. Draco waited, only flicking the plate a little when one strip of the bacon seemed about to slide off it. He was fascinated, despite himself, with the thought of what Weasley might come up with to escape the situation.  
  
“I thought Harry was here.” Weasley had his head turned carefully away, apparently contemplating the pattern of the paper on the walls.  
  
“He is. Asleep. I was going to wake him up so he could have some breakfast.” Draco glanced at the counter where more bacon and toast waited, under a Warming Charm. “Would you like some?”  
  
“ _What?_ No. I mean, it’s not—no. I’m not hungry.”  
  
Draco, remembering the way Weasley had always attacked breakfast at Hogwarts, barely managed not to snort. But he converted that into a nod and a sip from his orange juice. “Then let me go wake Harry up, and you can talk to him.”  
  
“You don’t need to.” Weasley’s voice was soft, his face a little green, and his eyes fastened on the robes around Draco’s legs, as if he thought they would swish open to show him Draco’s cock at any moment.  
  
 _Oh, this is interesting, isn’t it?_ Draco held back the temptation to stand up and really flash Weasley. That would only engender ill will between them for no reason. Draco had become accustomed, since the war, to not thinking of his wish to indulge his temper as a reason.  
  
“It’s no trouble,” he said. “I’ll just get him.”  
  
“No, really, you don’t  _have_ to—”  
  
“Harry!” Draco called cheerfully down the corridor, standing up so his back was to Weasley. He sneaked a glance over his shoulder after a second, and found Weasley sitting at the table with his eyes tightly shut. Draco held back his snicker and sat down again instead, tackling his bacon. It sizzled and popped in his mouth, done more perfectly than Draco ever remembered doing it before.  
  
But then again, he thought as he glanced at Weasley, he didn’t usually have this kind of seasoning to go with it.  
  
*  
  
Harry yawned and stretched, wondering for a blinking second as he reached for his glasses why he felt so cold. It was as if there should be some warmth in the bed with him that wasn’t there…  
  
 _Oh. Of course._  
  
Harry grinned a little and sat up, listening. Ron’s voice was saying something in distress in the kitchen. There was also a steady crunching. Apparently Draco had made a breakfast palatable enough that he could eat it.  
  
“All those lies about not being able to cook,” Harry muttered, and stood up and gathered his robes around him. He had had enough of accidentally scandalizing Ron when they shared the same flat after the war. Ron seemed perfectly fine with other boys wandering around not fully-dressed while they still lived in Gryffindor Tower, but he’d been upset about it with anyone after that.  
  
 _Well. Maybe not Hermione.  
_  
“Good morning, Draco, Ron,” Harry said, coming out with a nod. He looped an arm around Draco’s waist and kissed him, then glanced at Ron behind Draco’s head. Ron’s face had turned so red all his freckles were invisible. “What is it, Ron? Kingsley assign you a case?”  
  
Ron cleared his throat desperately. Then he said, “He wanted me to come and see whether you were back…but you know what?”  
  
“No, what?” Harry glanced up from Draco’s throat, which he’d been regarding because he felt like it could really use a lick or a kiss.  
  
“It can wait until tomorrow. You’re not supposed to be working today, anyway.” Ron glanced at Draco in a way that made Harry wonder if that was something Draco had said to him. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”  
  
He made his way to the Floo and out, hardly leaving Harry enough time to say goodbye. Harry looked at Draco. “Did you do something to him?”  
  
“Only wear one of your robes in front of him and offer him breakfast and be here when he obviously didn’t expect me to be.” Draco shrugged one shoulder, his eyes so intent that Harry couldn’t have looked away right then if he wanted to. “Is that enough to qualify as  _doing something_ to someone in your book? Is this going to be a problem?”  
  
Harry could feel Draco withdrawing from him even though he didn’t move. It was the sort of distance he had tried to put between them when he thought Harry valued challenging dragons and risking his life more than he valued his relationship with Draco. Of course he wouldn’t want to care about Harry more than Harry cared about him, or risk his heart.  
  
Harry lifted Draco’s chin with one hand and kissed him, long and soft and slow, until he felt Draco relax against him. Then Harry pulled back and smiled.  
  
“No. Ron has a problem with nudity now. Or semi-nudity,” Harry corrected himself when Draco rolled his eyes. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s the way it is. And I think he’s reacting strangely because I  _haven’t_ had someone in my life in such a long time. Someone serious. Someone he knows is going to stay.”  
  
Draco leaned further back, and there was a soft sheen in his eyes that told Harry this was the right tactic to take. Harry snatched a piece of bacon with his free hand and munched on it, because he  _was_ hungry, but that wasn’t a distraction or a reason to take his eyes from Draco’s face, so he didn’t.  
  
“You haven’t had that before?” Draco whispered.  
  
“Not in a long time.” Harry didn’t want Draco to have to think about Harry’s past relationships and how serious they had been or hadn’t been. The important thing was that he was with Draco now.   
  
Draco gave a little choking sound and leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry kissed his ear and cradled Draco against him.  
  
“You want to stay?” Harry finally whispered, when he thought the silence had gone on long enough.  
  
Draco looked up.  
  
The fire in his eyes was answer enough, Harry thought, enough for a dozen dragons. And the way Draco kissed him was fiercer than that, one hand gripped around the back of Harry’s head as though he was trying to make sure Harry couldn’t run away from him.  
  
It was good.  _So_ good.  
  
But not as good as the words Draco whispered a few minutes later, when he had calmed down and sat with his back to Harry’s chest, eating bacon and the toast Harry had Summoned from the counter.  
  
“I want to be with you forever.”  
  
“Me, too,” Harry said, and Draco turned to him with a faint smile that became a bigger and bigger one as Harry watched.  
  
“Well, then. If we’ve both decided, what can stand in our way?”  
  
“Not even dragons,” Harry said, and kissed Draco again. Draco was bent backwards over the table by the time they finished, still panting, with a bit of bacon grease in his hair and eyes wild with desire.  
  
He had never looked more beautiful to Harry.  
  
“Not them,” Draco said, and once again he pulled Harry into a kiss, and Harry realized they weren’t going to get to finish breakfast.  
  
It didn’t matter. Not when they could simply heat everything up with a Warming Charm later.  
  
And not when Draco was waiting for him, robe falling open in the way that would have so embarrassed Ron, his expression taunting, enticing, savage. Harry kissed him again and knelt in front of Draco on the floor, because it was going to happen here.  
  
 _I’m so happy._  
  
Once again, the gladness beat in him like dragons’ wings.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
